


A Tainted Bond

by Arendora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And lots of fighting, Angsty sex kink because even Tom deserves to get laid, Cussing, F/M, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Who am I kidding there will be sex ok!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arendora/pseuds/Arendora
Summary: Hermione discovers an ancient dark ritual that reverses a Horcrux and puts the damaged peices back  into its original form. Hermione has 72 hours and one shot to get this correct before the life as she knows it in the wizarding will be lost forever but will she lose herself to Voldemort instead?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tomione_Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tomione_Fest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> Hermione discovers an ancient dark ritual that reverses a Horcrux and puts the damaged peices back into its original form. Hermione has 72 hours and one shot to get this correct before the life as she knows it in the wizarding will be lost forever

Darkness, damp and musty, the smell of death was everywhere. The giant mausoleum loomed, offending and imposing in the distance. Dark clouds and lightning could be seen as Hermione Granger and Harry Potter sank into the shadows, creeping closer to the structure that would decide their fates or doom them in the process. 

 

A streak of white hair entered the chamber, and along with the imposing figure of Severus Snape, followed the pair that had already entered. 

 

“It's time, Hermione,” Harry whispered. “Where the bloody hell is Ron? He was supposed to be by the door as a lookout.”

 

“He must have followed the others inside, Harry. The other Order members will be here shortly. Please behave and do not antagonize Malfoy. We have one shot, and one shot only, to make this work tonight. The 72 hours are up in one hour and then who knows how long we have until we are surrounded by Death Eaters.”

 

Sticking to the shadows of the aged cemetery, Harry and Hermione made their way to the door of the old, but prestigious, crypt in the middle of Little Hangleton. Harry himself hated the sight of it, the place where Voldemort came back from the brink of death, the place where Cedric Diggory had been murdered in cold blood by the very monster whose Muggle father and ancestors were laid to rest inside. A cold shiver raced down Harry's spine as he recalled that ill-fated evening that seemed a lifetime ago, yet had only been three years. 

 

Hermione held on to Harry's hand tightly, pulling him away from the self-deprecating voice inside of his head, reminding him of the task that needed to be done.

 

The smell of death and decay was strong, stale and reeking and nearly suffocating, as they walked quickly to the door of the ancient crypt. The duo slipped through to the musty chamber where the binding ritual would take place.

 

Many faces greeted them when they finally arrived; members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as those who were fighting alongside them but could not publicly do so without giving away their status as spies. 

 

Severus Snape, and Lucius and Draco Malfoy stood still as statues in the corner trying to blend in with the stone walls surrounding them. Draco was fidgeting with the buttons on his robe while Severus stood with a scowl and Lucius merely looked bored.The atmosphere was grave indeed, as all of the Order members eyed the three Death Eaters with barely contained suspicion and fury.

 

“What are they doing here?” Someone spoke through the crowd although Hermione had no clue who it was.

 

“They are here because I asked them to be here, Cormac. If you have a problem with it, you know where the door is!” Harry said through gritted teeth. “For those of you who wish to help,  listen up! Hermione, Ron and I have been on the hunt for months trying to destroy some very Dark magic that You Know Who created. It has practically made him immortal. With the help of the Malfoys and Professor Snape, we have found a way to reverse it, but it is going to take all the magic we can muster together to accomplish this. We have one hour and one chance, because the moment it starts working we are going to be surrounded. I need seven volunteers to create the strongest shield you can,and at least ten people who are willing to fight while we perform the ritual. If anyone wishes to leave, do so now. We start in about two minutes and then there is no leaving.”

 

Harry looked through the crowd of nearly thirty people and sighed with relief when no one chose to flee. He turned his attention to the three Death Eaters, who were all staring at him, waiting for the signal as to what they must do. Harry nodded and turned back to the crowd. 

 

“Well, George and I can help with the shield,” Fred said. “We also brought a few things that might help, such as Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and Decoy Detonators.”  George nodded at what his twin told Harry.

 

“Fleur and I can help with that,” Bill replied thoughtfully.

 

“Us too!” Seamus, Dean and Neville said together. 

 

“They will not be able to get in with all of us guarding you,” George finally spoke up

 

“Good. You lot position yourselves around the crypt.”

 

“Who volunteers to fight while we perform this?” Hermione asked. “Keep in mind this ritual takes about thirty minutes to complete, so you will have to keep them at bay for at least that long.”

 

Everyone else in the Order volunteered to fight to keep the trio safe.

 

“Luna, Ginny—I will need you saying the incantation as we perform the ritual, alright?” Hermione asked her two closest girlfriends.

 

“Of course, Hermione.” Ginny readily agreed, while Luna simply nodded.

 

Ron finished laying the white pillar candles along the circle that had already been drawn in the middle of the crypt. The seven shield bearers cast their spells as the rest filed out the door into the silent graveyard, ready to fight.

 

Severus, Lucius and Draco made their way to the center of the circle. Each took off their robes and rolled up the sleeves on their left forearms, revealing the ugly, dark tattoo embedded into their skins. The Dark Mark, the horrible binding Dark magic that would ultimately be the catalyst in this ritual, stood out gruesome and beautiful against their pale skins. Hermione did not want to look at them, but she seemed unable to tear her eyes away. The Dark magic sang to her, mesmerizing and terrible in its symphony. Harry put his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. He looked worried. There was no guarantee this would work, but it was the best they could do with what little they had.

 

Hermione nodded her head once and turned to face her two best friends. “Are you ready?” she asked quietly.

 

“No, but it must be done so let's get to it,” Harry whispered back.

 

“Right, let's get this done - this place is creepy,” Ron muttered, shivering in the cold, damp air that surrounded them.

 

“Harry, stand in the middle. Professor Snape, Mr. Malfoy and Draco, clasp your left arms around Harry. Ron, you light the candles, and when I start the chant, you lay the objects around the circle. Ginny, Luna, here is the incantation. When I pause, read it.”

 

Each nodded at Hermione. She took off her cloak to reveal a very long, white gown that was practically see-through. She unbound her hair and placed a wreath made of hawthorn, with a phoenix feather entwined within it, atop her hair. She removed her shoes and socks and stepped closer to the circle of people staring at her with barely-concealed lust.

 

“Yes, I am a woman, honestly! You people never pay attention.” She huffed, annoyed by the openly lascivious looks she earned.  

 

Somewhere in the distance, a bell began to chime, indicating the time had come to start the ritual. Ron hurriedly began to light the candles surrounding the circle as Hermione began to chant.  “Fire, mediator between this world and the Veil! Help us, oh ancestors, help us to find these evils, this abomination against you. You are in the water that runs, in the trees, the rocks, the earth, and in ourselves. You are the purest form of energy. You are the rising force that makes us do, see, feel, love, and hate.You are great power, both outside of us and within us. Oh, great fire, ignite in our souls the passion and stamina to keep going, even when the urge to stop is too great to bear. Evoke these emotions within Tom Riddle. Help him to feel the pain and heartbreak he himself has evoked in each of us.” 

Ron laid down the locket beside the first candle.

 

**Pariter dissipatus est melius exercere queunt septem totum spiritum deperditi in tenebris....**

 

A voice that no one but Hermione could hear began to chant in Latin. The eerie sound seemed to calm Hermione more than frighten her. She knew who it was chanting with them,although she would never reveal what she had done to receive such help from beyond the Veil. If she did, Harry would stop her. But if Harry was their only hope to kill that maniac, then she would gladly sacrifice herself a thousand times to do so.

 

The sound of Apparation could be heard like thunder outside of the crypt and the enraged voice of Lord Voldemort above it all. Spell after spell, curse after curse, was raining down outside as Hermione tried to speed up the remaining parts of the ritual.

 

“Water, pure and fluid, calm and violent, bring cleansing, reconciliation, purification, and peacemaking.I beseech you to open an opportunity to be cleansed of Dark energies that are detrimental to us, your servants. Expel evil, open our psyches to healing and living as peaceful beings in this world of chaos. Water, we are in crisis! You are the medicine which aids in binding those whom have defiled you. You are the magic, wild and free, that binds us together. Flow through us, oh water, manifest in us power beyond comprehension, power to bring Tom Riddle to his knees and heal that which is broken within him.”

 

Ron laid down Helga Hufflepuff's Cup next to the second candle.

 

**Pariter dissipatus est melius exercere queunt septem totum spiritum deperditi in tenebris....**

 

The shield shook violently as Voldemort began attacking it with renewed fury.

 

“Earth, the mother who is inviting us to come home, provide us a sense of belonging, a remembrance of home, of memories past and present. Help us to experience being grounded in you. Earth is where we belong. She gives us sustenance unconditionally and makes it possible for us to feel connected through the magic that flows through us. You heal us when we need you and we return to you when we perish. You make us powerful and strong, and you alone select who will be your champion. I beseech you to select us, on your behalf, to champion against Tom Riddle who uses your power for evil.” 

Ron laid down the broken diary next to the third candle.

 

An ear-splitting scream sounded from beyond the shield, and Harry fell to his knees holding onto the scar on his forehead. A black tar-like substance was leaking down his face, pooling onto the floor inside the circle. Severus, Lucius and Draco were barely standing as the magic from their cursed tattoos gathered all of the evil energy around them.

 

**Pariter dissipatus est melius exercere queunt septem totum spiritum deperditi in tenebris....**

 

“Bones, speak to our bodies, help us remember who we are and why we are here. Help us begin to unlock the mysteries that we carry in our bodies, in the very structure of who we are. Awaken our awareness to the purpose we have come to fulfill. energetically inscribe in our bones and translate to us the message engraved inside of us. Align who we are. Dispel the doubt and fear within us. Revive in us the enthusiasm about our purpose and fill the inner emptiness. Oh, bones, invite us to remember, through this ritual, who we are and why we are here. Help us to stand against Tom Riddle, even when he is human again.” 

Ron shakily laid down the Gaunt ring beside the fourth candle.

 

Harry was screaming in agony, his face was ashen and his glasses had been flung across the floor. He held his head in his hands as the Horcrux inside of him began to actively pour from the cursed scar.

 

“Make it stop!” he screamed louder.

 

Hermione was crying now, yet despite the agony she was putting her best friend through, she needed to get this over and done with quickly.

 

**Pariter dissipatus est melius exercere queunt septem totum spiritum deperditi in tenebris....**

 

“Nature, open us to transformation, in order to realize our purpose. It is the element of ongoing change. Reveal, heal and reinstate our own innermost nature.  Help us to remain focused on our true purpose. We are often neglectful of the extent and intimacy of your connection within us, especially in your plants and animals. We act proud and dominant against them and think we can, and should, manifest our superiority in ways that are careless and devastating to you. Trees and animals live in harmony, and yet we create dissonance. Even so, we want to live in a world where everyone and everything is harmoniously linked to everyone and everything else. You are the definition of ongoing change. Oh, great Earth! Link us to all other elements. Help us control the fire, help us manage the water, ground us to the earth where we came from, and help us hear what our bones are speaking to us. Effect in us the change we need to bind these abominations, these Horcruxes Tom Riddle has carelessly created, back into the body in which it came **!”**

 

**Pariter dissipatus est melius exercere queunt septem totum spiritum deperditi in tenebris....**

 

BOOM!

 

The deafening sound brought everyone to their knees as the Dark pieces of Voldemort's soul gathered together inside the circle. The three Death Eaters, unable to break free of the circle, were cursing and screaming at the dark energy surrounding them- but it still wasn't enough energy. Hermione already prepared for everything going wrong, knew in an instant it wasn't enough.

 

Hermione stepped inside of the circle, withdrew a dagger and sliced her palm, allowing her blood to pool with the Dark energy swirling like a suffocating mass.  "HERMIONE, NO!" someone shouted. But all she could hear was that voice in her head screaming, its fury emanating through her skull, manifesting pain in every part of her body. She felt as if she were being ripped in two - and then all went black.

 

Outside, all fighting had come to a halt the moment Voldemort began to scream. His skin was morphing into flesh instead of scales, his hair was coming back, along with his nose. His features were beginning to resemble those which he had possessed in his early twenties. The resounding boom and the slamming of his soul back into his chest knocked him back a few steps and the agony grew exponentially. He kneeled, panting, for a few moments, his mind trying to regain focus. His heart was slamming violently against his chest and he was disoriented. 

 

This did not last long, as the rage he had felt before was nothing compared to what it was now. Voldemort stood and faced the door once more. The shocked expressions of everyone around him only fueled his temper further. With one violent wave of his wand, he broke the barrier that had prevented him from entering and he stepped inside the crypt that held the bones of his filthy Muggle ancestors.

 

The scene before him was enough to make him feel murderous. Three of his most loyal followers were piled in a heap against the ancient stone wall. There were seven individuals passed out across the floor. Harry Potter and his redheaded sidekick, the Weasley blood traitor, were standing over a young woman, dressed in a white gown with a crown of hawthorn laid upon her mass of unruly curls. He could only assume this was Potter's Mudblood bitch. She was glowing, her hair crackling with unspent magical energy.

 

For some reason, he was drawn to the witch like a moth to a flame. With a sweep of his hand, he threw Potter and Weasley aside and bent to pick the girl up from the dirty stone floor.  

 

Hermione's hair was crackling, her skin was cool to the touch, and her unused magical energy began to swirl around him. It felt like glass shards hitting him from all angles. He hissed at the unpleasant sensation but still turned to walk with her outside of the crypt. The fighting had resumed by the time he emerged with the woman in his arms, but he paid no mind to it. He walked a few feet and disappeared into the night with the new bane of his existence. 

 

Oh, that Mudblood bitch was going to pay. Slowly, and painfully, she was going to pay. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter or anything in the HP universe. All hail queen JK Rowling

Voldemort Apparated them inside the drawing room of the derelict Riddle Manor, the home of his ancestors. He had taken such pleasure in killing them all right at the dining room table and framing his uncle for it. He had never felt so close to the parent that abandoned him as he did when he watched the life seep from his eyes. 

 

He placed the young woman on the long, unused rug and immediately cast chains on her wrists and ankles to hold her in place. 

 

“Rennervate.”

 

Hermione immediately began to sputter and flail, still disoriented from the blood sacrifice of the ritual. She looked around from side to side and tried to sit up, only to notice the  chains holding her down. 

 

An evil chuckle came from the side and she immediately whipped her head around to find a very handsome, very irate, young Voldemort pointing his wand directly at her heart. She raised an eyebrow, her defiance evident. Even though she was terrified, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower. 

 

“Tom Riddle,” she stated. “You are looking much better than the last time I saw you. You were really starting to show your age...nice nose.”

 

Voldemort's mouth twitched, he was trying to control his temper but her cheekiness was not helping. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair and tilted her head back, only to recoil as the same sensation hit his own head. 

 

“What the bloody hell have you done, YOU MUDBLOOD BITCH!”

 

Hermione began to laugh hysterically, tears of mirth cascading down her face. 

 

Voldemort was in no such joyful mood, and despite knowing it would hurt him as well, he reared back and slapped her as hard as he could across her face. 

 

The sting both of them felt was decidedly painful. Hermione looked at him and spit the blood in her mouth across his own face. 

 

Voldemort wiped it off with the back of his hand, only further smearing it.

 

“I made you human again, you psychopathic maniac.”

 

“That is impossible!” Voldemort retorted, grabbing her hair once again, though not as hard. How had they found out his greatest secret? How had had they destroyed all that kept him alive?

 

Hermione began to laugh again. This time it was a cold, cruel laugh, one that would have put Bellatrix to shame. 

 

Voldemort plunged into her mind trying to find the truth but was immediately met with an impenetrable wall. He was expelled just as quickly.

 

“Did you honestly think that me being the smartest witch in a century would prevent me from finding out about your Horcruxes, Tom? Did you think you were that intelligent, or are you simply that narcissistic to believe you are above anyone else at being clever? Because honestly, I am not impressed.”

 

Voldemort took a threatening step towards her again, his wand raised, pointing right at her.  “I am going to take such pleasure in killing you, Mudblood.”

 

Hermione laughed again. “ No, Tom, I am afraid you won't. I am tied to you, just as you are to me, and you cannot hurt me in any way, as you already witnessed a few moments ago when you struck me. You won't be killing me, nor will any of your followers. We are now soulbound in every sense of the word.”

 

“What foolishness is this!” he exclaimed.

 

“The ritual,” Hermione said in exasperation. “The bloody ritual, Tom. You can no longer kill me, Harry or anyone that was within that circle tonight. I may have had to trade a piece of me to make you human but I would do it a million times again just to see you mortal once more.”

 

Voldemort sat down upon the ancient sofa. Dust and debris littered the air around them from the old piece of furniture, and Hermione sneezed from the airborne particles creeping up her nose. He sat twirling his wand in his hand, thinking of how best to handle the situation. He had not known there was a ritual to reverse a Horcrux, or he would have sought somehow else to prolong his life. 

 

This was not going to do, not at all. 

 

He wanted the girl dead by his hand, if only to wipe that smug grin off of her face. His hatred for her even trumped his hatred for Harry Potter. 

 

Potter! If he was still there, he could catch the boy before he Apparated away!

 

“They are long gone by now, Tom. Did you really think after Godric's Hollow we would not have an exit strategy?”

 

Voldemort stared down at the witch chained to the floor. His patience with her was already gone.

 

“I can hear everything you say inside your head, Tom, it is part of the bond. Occluding is not going to help that.”

 

Voldemort swore under his breath. He did not like the idea of her hearing his every thought. It was disconcerting, to say the least. 

 

“Well then, Mudblood, I suppose it is time to go. If I am not going to have the privilege of slowly draining your dirty blood across this floor, our time together here is up.” Voldemort stood and walked quickly across the floor to the door leaving Hermione sprawled across it, still in chains. Her laughter rang inside his head. 

 

Voldemort left the manor house on the hill, hoping he would not have to come back to this place again until the bitch died of starvation and hypothermia. Then he would fling her corpse at Harry bloody Potter and hope he choked on it.

  
  


Hermione lay there, listening to the sounds surrounding her in the darkness. She was freezing. Her lip was bleeding and so was her hand. There was a bruise blooming across her face and her scalp was burning like it was on fire.

 

But she was elated. The ritual had worked! Voldemort was human again and she could only pray to the gods that Harry offed him before he realized she would die as well. 

 

Harry was the brother she had always wanted. She had found family with Harry and Ron—the only family she had left.  Harry would blame himself, as he always did, and Ron would be furious, but it was worth the sacrifice to finally be rid of the Darkest, most evil Dark Lord to ever walk the face of the earth. 

 

Hermione turned her head to the side and fell into a fitful sleep. She needed rest; her body was spent but her mind was literally screaming for a solution and sleep. It was a terrible situation to be in. 

 

He would not be gone long. He would find out soon enough that if he meant to starve her, even if he ate ten times the amount he normally did, he would still be hungry. If he meant to freeze her to death, he would still be cold until she was warm. Soul bonds were a pain in the arse, but Hermione laughed knowing that the Dark Lord would only be punishing himself. She, on the other hand, was fully prepared to die. 

  
  


Voldemort landed inside the front door of Malfoy Manor—a bunch of traitors, the lot of them, and they would all be dealt with accordingly. 

 

A frail old house elf appeared and bowed his head to the angry wizard, but Voldemort killed the poor creature before his head could even be raised again.

 

Wormtail was standing in the shadows. Traitor and coward he may be, but stupid he was not. He had not seen this Voldemort for seventeen years. His handsome face had been restored, and he oozed power from every pore. Right now, that power was angry, livid and violent and Wormtail plastered himself against the wall and watched as Voldemort made his way to the dining room. He felt the burn on the inside of his left forearm the moment the Master sat down at the magnificent ancient oak table.

 

One by one, the Dark Lord's followers began to arrive. Some were bloodied, some looked like they had just woken from sleep, and some were being dragged in unconscious by the ones that were bloodied. 

 

Voldemort stood from the table and paced back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling fireplace that was ablaze as his followers began to file in. Dolohov was levitating Severus, Bellatrix was levitating Draco, and Thorfinn Rowle had Lucius slung over his right shoulder. All three were still unconscious, and the three carrying them stopped in front of their Master.

 

“How many were killed?” Voldemort asked.

 

“None, my lord,” Bellatrix stated.

 

“None,” he repeated thoughtfully. “The other side as well, I assume.”

 

Silence was all he received, and that gave him all the answers he needed.

 

“Potter?”

 

Again, silence.

 

“Hmm, where is Narcissa?”

 

“I am here, my Lord.” Narcissa said, stepping out and bowing.

 

“Where were you this evening, my dear, and why, pray tell, was your husband and son participating in a ritual that was to be my demise?” Voldemort asked, stroking the top of Narcissa's perfectly primped blonde hair. He placed his hand under her chin, tilting her head up before delving into her mind.

 

_ “Lucius, where are you going?” Narcissa was sitting at her dressing table brushing her long strands of hair, her flowery velvet dressing gown spread out behind her. She was the epitome of beauty.  _

 

“ _ I am going to my study, dear. Severus will be here soon. We are to go over the plans the Master had asked us to achieve before the end of this school year. Nothing to worry yourself over. Do try to get some sleep.” Lucius stepped closer to his wife,placed a kiss atop her hair and quickly left the bedroom. _

 

_ Narcissa laid the silver brush back on her table, and making her way to the bed she normally shared with her husband, she  fell asleep _ . 

 

Voldemort left her mind and Narcissa fell to the floor.

 

“Who else saw Lucius go to his study this evening?” he asked quietly.

 

“I did, my Lord” Wormtail finally spoke from the shadows.

 

“Come.” Voldemort beckoned to the space on the floor in front of him that Narcissa had just vacated. Wormtail scurried quickly over to it and fell to his knees. Once again, Voldemort broke into one of his followers minds.

 

_ Lucius hurried down the grand staircase, his trademark cane making a clicking noise across the granite foyer as he walked towards his study. The Floo activated, and Lucius turned to see Severus stepping out and wiping the soot from his clothing. _

 

_ “Lucius.”  _

 

_ “Severus.” _

 

_ After the two men greeted each other, they both began to walk toward Lucius’ study, not saying a word until the door was closed. Wormtail crept closer to the door, trying to hear what was going on inside, only to be met with a stinging hex from Draco.  _

 

_ “Move it, vermin,” Draco hissed. _

 

_ Wormtail backed up and ran away from the door. _

 

Voldemort left Wormtail’s mind and the man scurried back towards the wall. Voldemort turned, twirling his wand in his long boney fingers. He needed to know if what the Mudblood said was true. If it was, he could not harm the three unconscious men. 

 

“Take them to the West Wing and lock them in until I find out what went on behind that door.” 

 

“Yes, Master,” Antonin, Bellatrix and Thorfinn said in unison before they turned to take the others to the West Wing.

 

“No playing, Bella, that privilege is mine alone.”

 

Bellatrix pouted but nodded her head in agreement.

 

“I want Potter and all of the other traitors here by tomorrow night. All who fail to bring them will not like what happens. Dismissed.” Voldemort waved them away. 

 

He was distracted, and he needed to take a hot shower. He had been standing in front of the fireplace for half an hour and still he was freezing. 

 

Voldemort made his way to the room he occupied. He summoned a house-elf to bring him food and finally stepped under the scalding hot water. No matter how long he stood there however, he could not get warm. That infernal girl had not been lying. Apparently, she must be freezing on that floor, because he was absolutely frozen in a scalding hot shower.

 

After trying to warm up for nearly an hour, he was still cold and also quite hungry. He shut off the shower and cast a drying spell on himself, quickly putting on the new set of robes he found lying on the bed.  All manners aside, he inhaled the food that sat on the table in his room.

 

Still, he felt hungry and was even colder than he’d been before. He climbed onto the soft four poster bed and buried himself under the covers. He lay there for nearly an hour before cursing the Mudblood along with anyone and anything that had ever stood in his way. 

 

He heard humming inside his head, a tune he did not know, and he could only venture a guess that the Mudblood was singing to herself to pass the time. He was shivering and the woman would not stop singing. She hummed the same song repeatedly, until she hit a part she did not know and then she would sing it all over again. 

  
  


Throwing the covers off of himself, Voldemort stood to once again pace in front of a fireplace. Over and over, she sang, she laughed, she recited potion ingredients and spells that he had never heard of before. Perhaps she had invented them. But, no, she was a filthy, low life Mudblood with subpar intelligence, she could not possibly have enough intelligence to invent a spell. He would have heard about it.

 

He layered on more clothing and cast a dozen Warming Charms and yet he remained cold. His stomach hurt from hunger, and the irritating voice inside his head was starting to sound sluggish. Voldemort was starting to listen for signs the woman would finally go to sleep, but much to his surprise she began to actually speak to him.

 

_ “It is rather sad that you feel so lonely.” _

 

Voldemort chuckled. “What makes you think I am alone, Mudblood? I have many people who follow me.”

 

_ “I did not say you were alone, I said lonely; there is a big difference.” _

 

“There is no difference to me, I like being alone.”

 

_ “No one likes being alone all the time, Tom.” _

 

“Why do you keep saying Tom? That is not my name any longer!” 

 

_ “The same reason you call me Mudblood, Tom. Because it makes you mad.” _

 

“I call you Mudblood because that is what you are, girl.”

 

_ “You could very easily say Muggle-born instead, and, until such time as you do, you will continue to be Tom.” _

 

“You are the most infuriating woman I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

 

_ “You don't know me, Tom. You know  _ of _ me and you know things  _ about _ me, but you do not know me.” _

 

“I could say the same of you, Mudblood. How could you possibly know why I do the things I do?”

 

_ “Then enlighten me.” _

 

“I think not, Mudblood.”

 

There was no more communication, only her beginning to hum again. Even that stopped after another hour. Voldemort was so cold his teeth were chattering. He walked to the ensuite again and saw his lips were blue and his already pale skin had taken on a grey tinge.

 

“Bloody hell and curse the gods!” he shouted, swiping the contents of the sink onto the floor in anger.

 

He had to go get her; he valued his own preservation above all else.  

 

Voldemort threw on his shoes and made his way back down the staircase to the front door.

 

The sun was just peeking over the horizon. Snow had begun to fall softly, and he knew he had to get the girl or risk freezing himself to death.

 

He Apparated to the front door of Riddle Manor again, his breath thick in front of him as he opened the door and walked in. Hermione lay still as death, still chained to the floor. Her lips were blue and her hair was frozen to the floorboards. Her skin had taken on the same sickly grey tinge as his. He undid the magic holding the chains and picked the frozen witch up immediately, casting a strong Warming Charm on her, which did little to alleviate the cold that had seeped into them both.

 

He Apparated them back to Malfoy Manor and made his way back up to his room. Waving his hand to start the Olympic-sized bathtub to fill with steaming water, he stepped into it with both of them fully clothed. 

 

He held her head above water but fully submerged the rest of her in the steaming liquid. Color began to come back to her face. Her hair began to thaw out. Finally, he started to warm up, and she opened her eyes. 

 

Hazel met blue. She gave a faint smile and fell unconscious once again. 

 

Even if he considered his fate in the worst possible light for a century, being bound to Hermione ‘Mudblood’ Granger wouldn't have even topped the list of possibilities.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter or anything in the HP universe. All hail queen JK Rowling

It had been a week since that ill-fated night—one blasted, bloody, infuriating week. All Hermione had done the entire week was stare out the window. She had barely eaten or slept, and she stank like a pile of dragon dung. Her hair was so dirty and unruly, Voldemort highly suspected there may be mice nesting in it.

 

Already this week had him having to imprison three of his most trusted followers for treason, losing his Horcruxes, and being irrevocably tied to a Mudblood. Plus, Harry Potter had once again escaped. Yes, all things considered, Voldemort was having a very bad week.

 

“Get up!” Voldemort shouted. His already thin patience had reached a breaking point. Even fighting would be preferable to this morose shell that stank up his room and looked like death.

 

Hermione turned her head to glance toward him but still refused to acknowledge he was even there. She sighed,leaned her head back against the cold, wet glass of the window, and shut her eyes.

 

“Now!” he shouted again.

 

“What are you really hoping to do Tom, kill me? How, when I am already dead and you already know you cannot?” Hermione said, defeatedly.

 

“You seem very much alive to me, Mudblood.”

 

“There are many ways to be dead Tom. Alive and dead is the worst possible combination.”

 

Tom sneered at her. She had not left the window seat nor had she even looked in his direction the entire time he had been inside the room. He wanted her to squirm, to beg him, but he knew as well as he knew how to breathe that she would do neither. How... _ why _ did he have to get stuck with the most infuriating woman in creation? The most annoying, Mudblood to ever cross his path! 

 

She did not fawn over him and normally he would have loathed that kind of behavior, even if she was filth. He detested clingy women, their simple minds and even simpler tastes drove him into a rage. No, Hermione “Mudblood” Granger would never be clingy, but by the gods, she knew how to push every damn button he had.

 

He was by her side in two steps. He grabbed her from her place on the window seat and threw her over his shoulder. If he thought to elicit some sort of reaction, he definitely did not expect the hellcat that met him. 

 

“Put me down you arsehole!” she screamed beating his back with her fists as hard as she could.

 

“No.”

 

“PUT ME DOWN!”

 

“Why? So you can go back to staring out the window? So you can go back to ignoring everything around you? No, you are going to take a bath and you are going to eat or I will have one of the damn house-elves you try and free all the time come up and scrub you raw and force-feed you!”

 

“Why the hell do you even care?”

 

“I don't, but you smell worse than dragon shite, and I am tired of hexing everyone because I am damned hungry.”

 

“Then you can just bloody well starve!”

 

“Oh, make no mistake, Mudblood, I would have no fit of conscience for letting  _ you _ starve, but I myself am quite disagreeable when I am hungry and since whatever happens to you happens to me you  _ will _ eat.”

 

“I should have let Harry kill you.”

 

“You and your damned Gryffindor sentiments. You would have killed yourself as well, stupid Mudblood.”

 

“It would have been a damn good sacrifice!”

 

“Yes, I suppose it would have been! It would have saved me a lot of damn grief! Now get into the tub and scrub yourself because I meant what I said about calling the house-elves to scrub you!”

 

“Fine! You want me scrubbed, I will scrub! I will scrub until my skin bleeds! I will scrub until my hair comes out! I will scrub until I run out of soap and the only thing left to scrub is your bloody corpse off the damn floor!” she screamed.

 

He threw her on the floor in the bathroom. She scrambled to her feet and stood right in front of him, her chin lifted and her arms crossed defiantly across her chest. 

 

Voldemort began clapping very slowly. “You should have been an actress. Yes, Mudblood, I bloody well know what an actress is. I grew up in the Muggle world, remember. Now, you listen to me,” he sneered, pinning her to the wall. “I will give you 15 minutes in this bathroom. I will be watching you the entire time. If I even feel my skin prickle because you are rubbing too hard I will come in here and I will wash you myself. When you get your arses out of the tub, you will eat  _ everything _ on that damn plate, and I mean everything, or I will tie you down and push it into your mouth myself! Do I make myself perfectly clear!”

 

“Abundantly,” Hermione said, quite sarcastically.

 

“Good. Now get into the damn tub!”

 

“Turn around.”

 

“Why the hell would I turn around?”

 

“So I can undress!”

 

This caused him to full-on belly laugh, but Hermione could see it was more sarcastic than jovial. 

 

“No, I have seen you naked, little girl, remember? I had to undress you six damn days ago and I am not taking my eyes off of you for any damn reason until you are washed and have eaten.”

 

“Barbaric toerag, I am not a little girl!”

 

“Crazy, stinky bitch! Now that we have established pet names, get into the damn water and stop acting like a little girl and act like a woman for a change!”

 

Hermione began throwing off the offending garments, deliberately taking her time just to anger him further. When she finally reached the bottom of her shirt, she flung the garment straight at his head. 

 

“Hmm, smells just like you, dirty and impure.”

 

“Says the half-blood bastard.”

 

“I would kill you if I could.”

 

“The point is shared. Believe me, Tom, if I could go back in time, I would stab you as a baby before I cast the Killing Curse on you three times just to make sure you were dead. Then I would burn you just for good measure!”

 

“Well, you and your little friends saw that can't happen now, didn't you? Destroying all of the Time-Turners in the Ministry quite worked out to my advantage. Hurry up with those Muggle pants!”

 

“Blue jeans.”

 

“What?!”

 

“They are called  _ blue jeans _ ! For someone so intelligent, you certainly are thick.”

 

“I do not care what the hell they are called! They are Muggle and they are grotesque and vulgar, as far as clothing goes.”

 

“You know,” she said, unbuttoning the offending garment and slowly sliding down the zipper, “if you had paid more attention on your little megalomaniac power trip and temper tantrum, you would have realized that having more alliances with Muggles and endearing them to our world rather than trying to kill them all would have served you much better! Having them as  _ friends _ gets you much more than having them as enemies ever could. Did you really never realize this? With your looks and the power you ooze out of every pore, you could have been King of the damn world without any blood spilled at all.”

 

Voldemort sneered, “ _ Friends. _ Useless, pathetic, and weak people have friends, Mudblood. No wonder you were being hunted instead of being the hunter.”

 

“Do you not understand what you are saying? I have friends, and  _ I _ was the hunter. I hunted you, and in doing so, you are human again! Even with having to endure your presence from now until eternity ends, I would do it all over again just so I could keep my friends safe!”

 

“Pathetic excuse! You are just too weak to seek power and immortality!”

 

“Weak? Hmm, I would call it being sane, but you would not know what that is so it is a moot point, I assure you.”

 

Hermione finally finished undressing and stepped into the steaming vanilla-scented water. Her bones ached and her head was pounding after verbally sparring with the Darkest wizard the world had ever seen.

 

He rubbed her the wrong way; everything about him made her mad. His voice, his looks, but especially the almost comical, fucked up way he saw the world. It was sad, he had never known another way. He had never allowed anyone to show him, either. Love, friendship, family—these were all foreign concepts to Tom Riddle. His mother, his father, hell, even his extended family—all gone, all crazy or prejudiced in some strange way. Weakness, he saw each of these things as a weakness. 

 

“Wash,” he commanded from the doorway. “You are entirely too thin, and you need to eat, so scrub what filth you can off of yourself; we can do nothing about your blood so the rest will have to do.”

 

“You and your damn blood purity! You know as well as I do that if the magical community keeps inbreeding they will die out within the next century, and then all of your well-laid plans for pure-bloods will have been for nothing.”

 

“Scrub! Now!”he roared. He did not want to be reminded of the research Severus had presented to him. He did not want to think about his followers having to bed filthy Muggles and Mudbloods, but he did know what the girl said was the truth. Magical births were rare enough, but keeping isolated would kill them out like cancer kills healthy cells.

 

Hermione stared at him over her shoulder. He was rankled and not in a good way. She had hit a nerve and she knew it. The question would be, then, did she keep jabbing to make her point or let the monster brood? 

 

She grabbed the soap, a jasmine and vanilla combination, and a clean, soft cloth to bathe with and began to lather it. She washed her face and arms, only stopping briefly to rinse and repeat lower, until she felt the pins holding her hair ping across the floor. She turned her head to once again stare into the handsome face staring back at her.

 

“The rats nest as well, or I will cut it all off.”

 

“Then cut it if you want to, I had already planned on washing it but not with this,” she said, waving the bar of soap in the air above her. “If I used this, my hair would look like it had been attacked by a horde of angry bees.”

 

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “What does the spoiled princess require? Do tell.”

 

Hermione snorted, ‘princess’ indeed. “Shampoo and conditioner. I know the magical world is backwards and sometimes ignorant to modern inventions, but I do know they use shampoo and conditioner.”

 

Tom stalked across the tiled floor into the cabinet beside the sink looking for the products she mentioned. He snapped his fingers with frustration. 

 

An aged house-elf appeared, bowed until his long nose touched the floor, and waited for his master to speak. “I require shampoo and conditioner, and whatever else she needs to control that mass of hair on her head. Get it for her.”

 

“Yes, Master,” the house-elf squeaked, before looking at Hermione. Her flabbergasted anger could be felt throughout the room. 

 

“What does Miss require?”

 

“Scissors.”

 

The house-elf and Tom both stared at her in surprise.

 

“Scissors, Miss?”

 

“Just bring every damn hair product you can acquire, and bring them quickly. I am losing patience with this conversation,” Tom hissed.

 

“Y—Yes, Master,” the elf squeaked and disappeared.

 

Tom pushed off from the wall and stood above Hermione. He stared at her angry face. He would never admit out loud how truly beautiful she actually was. Her power-brushing across his skin left him hard and wanting. He knew he affected her, too, though she would never admit it. They were like fire and gasoline, explosive and passionate, intelligent and ruthless. 

 

He grabbed her neck and tilted her head back, lowering his face to hers. 

 

“Your misguided passion for judging what you do not understand, trying to champion those who do not wish to be championed. It makes me want to throttle you and fuck you all in the same breath.”

 

Hermione's breath hitched at his whispered words. A few centimeters and his lips would be pressed against hers. 

 

“The exact same thing could be said of you, Tom. The only difference is, I actually give a damn what happens to those less fortunate, and you just like to beat them harder.” 

 

The sound of the house-elf returning broke the spell. Tom held on to her neck a few more seconds, staring into her eyes before releasing her and turning to the little creature who had magicked the products into a basket sitting on the sink. 

 

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly. 

 

The little creature simply bowed. He turned to look at Tom but Tom just waved him away.

 

Tom dug through the products, finding a shampoo for curly hair and a conditioner to match. He held them out to Hermione, waiting for her to take them from his outstretched hands. 

 

But, Hermione was not going to play by his rules. She stood up, letting the water drip from her naked form and went to dig through the basket as well. 

 

Tom smirked. She would always disobey him, even when doing as he asked would serve a better purpose. Taking out his wand, he stuck her hands to the sink and stepped up behind her. He poured a good amount of shampoo into his palm and began to rub it through her hair.

 

“See, little Mudblood, I knew you wouldn't take them from me, simply on principle,” he whispered into her ear. “Now, you have to endure me touching you because I want it done correctly.”

 

His long, dexterous fingers felt like heaven against her scalp. No one had washed her hair since she was a child. He worked his way down the curls that stretched to the top of her hips. 

  
  


“Lower your head,” he murmured, grabbing his wand to pour water over her head. 

 

The cool water pouring over her burning scalp made her more aware of the presence behind her that was now about to massage conditioner into her hair as well.

 

He applied a large handful of conditioner to the middle of her hair and began to work his fingers through it to detangle the mess her hair had been in for the last week. 

 

She had been aware of how bad she had smelled, but she was doubly aware of the mess her hair had, was, and always would be. After spending seven years trying to keep her best friend alive and helping the Order fight the man whom she had irrevocably tied herself to, and who was now combing and massaging her hair with his fingers, her hair had always been pretty low on her list of priorities.

 

“You are going to put me to sleep.”

 

“Well that is the general idea. After you eat, of course.”

 

“I am not hungry.”

 

“I will call bullshit to that one, Mudblood, because I am ravenous.”

 

“Fine, but not a lot of food. I am not used to it.”

 

“Not used to eating? Do you slurp your food from a trough like a common animal?”

 

“Yes, Tom, because the Queen often serves her guests in a barn. Let me go.”

 

“Queen? As in Queen Elizabeth? How in the bloody hell would you have ever dined with the Squib queen?”

 

“Well, if you must know, she is my great-aunt on my mother's side. My mother is Lady Helena Stuart.”

 

“If you already knew you came from magical blood,  _ old _ magical blood at that, why in the bloody hell are you passing yourself off as a filthy  _ Mudblood _ !”

 

“What bloody difference would it have made, Tom? Who, besides you and the Muggle-borns or half-bloods, would know about the peerage and their connection with the magical world?  _ No one _ , that's who. You and your cronies are so damn hung up on pure blood, you miss the point! My family was inbred amongst themselves for centuries and all it got them was Squibs and people who are insane! Even Dolohov knows this! He is my sixth cousin. Lucius is in there somewhere as well, but his family branched off and married into a Veela clan. Now, you tell me, Tom Riddle, do you know that your family, the Riddle side, was once in the peerage as well? Before you murdered them, that is. You claim to know these things, but you show your ignorance by clinging to one side that was more crazy and insane than anything the other side could have been!”

 

“ _ Enough _ !” he roared, slamming his hands down on the sink on either side of Hermione. “What is your real name?”

 

“Hermione.”

 

“I won't ask you a third time. What. Is. Your. Bloody. Real. Name!”

 

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Hermione said defiantly.

 

“It is of no consequence to me,” he retorted.

 

Hermione sighed and shook her head, as if she needed to clear it from this tedious discussion.

 

“You say this does not matter to you, and yet you want to know my full name? You are a cauldron full of contradictions. Now, please excuse me while I rinse my hair.”

 

Hermione turned to bow her head back under the sink, to rinse the conditioner out, and she once again found herself stuck palm down to it.

 

“Honestly, if you want me to eat you will let me finish so I can get dressed.”

 

Once again Tom was behind her, but this time he had pressed himself snugly against her. His left hand smoothed down from her shoulder to her hand, and his right hand grabbed her waist to pull her up against him. 

 

“One of these days, when I figure out how to reverse this ritual, I am going to kill you, just like I killed my filthy Muggle father and his filthy Muggle parents. I am going to gut you like a fish, and then I will kill you, because no matter how far down the line you think you need to go to claim magical blood you will always be a filthy Mudblood,” Tom whispered menacingly against her ear, before shoving her head down and pouring more water on top of it . 

 

Hermione sputtered from the ice-cold water pouring across her head and face from Tom's wand. Apparently, reminding him of his father had not been the best plan she ever had, if his change in demeanor was any indication. Also, telling the megalomaniac they both came from Squibs had not gone well, either. She should have kept her mouth shut. She knew no one on earth could rile her temper as much as Tom could.

 

Voldemort grabbed a towel from the shelf beside the tub, unfroze Hermione's hands and practically threw the soft cotton to her. “Dry off and eat. Do not make me come back in here and force you!”

 

“Whatever you say,  _ sir _ !” 

 

“You absolutely can not help spewing from your mouth, can you? Or is it simply me who elicits such passion?”

 

Hermione laughed. “Passion? Is that what you call it? I call it what it is: hatred.”

 

“You don't hate me, Hermione. Believe me, it would be a lot easier if you did.”

 

“I want to make something clear to you, Tom. I hate you and everything you stand for. I hate your clearly stupid and misguided black-and-white view of the world around you! You claim superiority over an entire race of humans that your limited interaction with has poisoned you to. I hate the way that you tried to murder my best friend when he was a baby, because you put too much stock into believing a prophecy made by the most insane woman I have ever had the displeasure to meet. We are masters of our own fate, Tom, and yet you cling to the hope that in the end Harry won't murder you, that he will be compassionate enough to spare me death by his hand! I can assure you that even though he is the brother I never had, that even though he would never hurt me, when he finds you, he will kill you, and he will kill me in the process to save me from a fate  _ worse _ than death.”

 

Tom grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her around to pin her to the wall. His pupils were dilated, his breathing harsh, and all he wanted to do was snap her neck for her insolence. 

 

Hermione lifted her face to stare directly at him, her eyes alight with passion and defiance. She was angry enough to send out magical waves that slammed once again into his skin. Tom closed his eyes briefly to try to regain control, but as another wave of her magic slammed into him, his lips slammed onto hers. He gripped her wet hair and tilted her face to the side to give him better access to the full pink lips that infuriated him even as hehe relentlessly craved to kiss them. Hermione's hands came up to his chest to push him away and her cry of protest only further fueled him as his tongue delved into the cavern of her mouth. 

 

Tom stepped closer putting his full length against her small frame, effectively pinning her snugly between him and the wall. His right hand traced the curve of her side, softly tracing patterns against her heated skin.

 

Hermione whimpered when his hand traced the curve of her breast. She moaned when the same hand traced the inside of her thigh. She nearly screamed when his long, skillful fingers touched her core. She had nowhere to go, she was trapped against him. She wanted to run and hide, and yet his magic that was permanently bound to hers was caressing her skin like one would caress silk. So attuned to her body, he had effectively made her mind turn to mush and set her body ablaze with desire; a desire she didn't quite understand. Sure, she had kissed and done other things, but never to the extent that Tom was doing now. 

 

And yet, before he lost himself to his own carnal pleasures, he stopped. Pulling away from her slightly, he stared down at the naked witch before him and knew that before this week was over he would have her, if he let himself do so. His magic hummed with pleasure and he could see it written across her face that her body was enjoying the same. He leaned his head against the cool tile of the wall beside Hermione's head and breathed in very slowly the smell of the shampoo he had just washed her hair with. 

 

She smelled like home, and that, in and of itself, was highly disconcerting. He did not want or need a home. He wanted power, and he wanted to live forever. He had no designs on love or whatever nonsense weaker people put stock in, yet he did want her. He did want her by his side, and to a man like Tom Riddle, it was not a happy thought.

 

“Get dressed and I will meet you in the room to eat,” he muttered, pushing away from the wall. Without looking back, he exited the bathroom. 

 

Hermione stood trembling, her eyes wide, her heart pounding and her skin on fire from head to toe. Was she seriously about to let that monster do whatever he wanted to her? Yes, she would have let him do anything! 

 

This unpleasant thought irked her in more ways than she could imagine. She would not play into the hands of a deranged psychopath. No, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor princess, consummate know-it-all and Muggle-born would never! But Hermione Granger, unintended bonded mate to the Darkest, most evil, narcissistic psychopath that had ever been born...well, apparently, that Hermione would.

 

When she finally regained use of her senses and limbs, Hermione wrapped the soft cotton towel around her head, donned the terry cloth bathrobe hanging behind the door and made her way into the bedroom. The smell of something rich and spicy invaded her nose, and she breathed in the fragrant aroma of what could only be food. Sure enough, Tom was sitting quite stoically at a small table laid out with enough food for a dozen or more people.

 

“Help yourself. Apparently, the house-elf thought we would be having company.”

 

Hermione nodded once before lifting the lid on the dish she had been smelling from the doorway of the bathroom. The spicy smell of roast lamb made her mouth water. She cut a piece and paired it with sauteed almond green beans and a jacket potato with enough butter to drown it. 

 

Hermione's stomach decided that moment to growl in a very unladylike way. She tried to hide her embarrassment by taking a bite of her food, only to snap her head up in annoyance when Tom snickered in amusement.

 

“No, you are definitely not hungry, are you, Mudblood?”

 

“I could stop so that you never get full, Tom. Keep annoying me and I will starve myself to death just to see you wither away and die.”

 

“It would do you no good. I could just tie you down and make you eat.” He smirked, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth. “Remember who has the wand here.”

 

Hermione let off a little laugh. She did not need a wand; she had never needed a wand. Perhaps he did not know that? She raised her hand,waved it in a circular motion above her head and, not saying a word, lit every candle in the room on fire.

 

Tom looked at her, astounded that she could do nonverbal wandless magic. He had only ever known three people to do such a thing: himself, Dumbledore and Grindelwald. 

 

“Who taught you to do that?”

 

“No one. I started doing it when I was four,” Hermione replied.

 

“Interesting,” Tom replied, going back to his dinner.

 

The rest of the meal went by in silence, and for once both were in agreement that it should stay that way. Hermione moved from the table back to her window seat, except this time she had a book with her. Tom decided to read in front of the fireplace. 

 

The sound of silence grew until at last Tom looked up from his book to find Hermione asleep with the book still clutched in her lap. He was annoyed that once again he would have to touch her. It seemed like every time he did, his own body betrayed him. He marked his book and set it aside. In three long steps he was beside her, scooping her into his arms. 

 

“Tom...” she whimpered, burying her head into the crook of his shoulder.

 

Was she dreaming about him? It seemed unlikely, yet she had called out his name. Her soft feminine body was lithe and small compared to his own. The sound and feel of her breath on the skin of his neck was nearly too much, he wanted to be rid of her! 

 

He walked back to the massive four-poster mahogany bed and laid her down in it, except she did not want to let his neck go. After several long seconds of trying to pry her hand off, he called her name. When that did not work, he kissed her again. 

 

Immediately, her eyes flew open and she let go of his neck. 

 

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” she screamed.

 

“Well, I was trying to get you to let go of my neck!”

 

“Just why, precisely, did I even have your neck?”

 

“You decided my neck was better suited to snuggle as you dreamed about me when I was putting you onto the bed.” He chuckled at her discomfort.

 

“I was not dreaming about you!” she said, her cheeks turning almost completely red in the process.

 

“Yes, because your cheeks reddening as bright as a Weasley's hair is a good indication you are feigning ignorance.”

 

“Fine, whatever, I am going back to sleep. Just stay on your side.”

 

“If I seriously wanted to bed you, Mudblood, there would be little you could do to stop me. But as I am not going to bed, then I suspect you are quite safe from my advances, now aren't you?”

 

“Good, please get sleep deprived and die. No skin off my back.”

 

“I do not require much sleep.”

 

“Why? Are you afraid of your own dreams, Tom?”

  
He grinned, a smile that would make any serial killer cringe. Leaning in closely, he whispered, just a breath against her ear, “Oh no, my dear, I love my dreams. But you, you should definitely be scared.”

  
"Only an animal would think like that, you know." The thought hung in the air like an impenetrable fog.   
  
"Haven't you realized by now? I am the monster your mother warned you about."   
  
Yes, he was, but she had a hard time believing that her mother could have ever conjured a monster as vicious and cold-hearted as Voldemort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just playing in JK Rowlings playground

She was running. Her lungs were on fire and her legs felt like they would break any moment, but she couldn't stop. The darkness that was chasing her was cackling like a mad man. It was closing in on her, around her, and soon it would overpower her. 

 

There was someone chanting, and she could hear a voice screaming her name, and still she kept running. Her wild mane of brown curls was in her face, whipping all around her as the wind picked up. She needed to catch her breath, but she dared not stop. She needed to get away, she had to keep running. 

 

Time itself seemed to slow down, and the longer she ran, the farther her escape seemed to be. The laughter was getting stronger, the chanting was getting louder, and the voice was screaming harder.

 

She began to hyperventilate., She was panicking. The exit was farther away, now. Suddenly, the darkness grabbed her and she screamed.

 

“Bloody hell,  _ wake up _ !” 

 

Hermione snapped her eyes open in a panic. She was drenched in sweat and her heart was beating violently against her rib cage. It had been a dream. A terrible, suffocating and agonising dream, but still just a dream. She looked up, and Tom was standing over her. His hands were biting into the tops of her arms where he had violently shaken her awake.

 

“You finally listen for once—” he began, but she launched herself at him and latched her arms around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

 

“Get the hell off of me!” he roared, trying to pry the offending witch off of him, only to have her squeeze him tighter.

 

“Just give me a second,” she whimpered against his neck.

 

“No! Now! Get off!” he stammered. He was uncomfortable with her draped across him. It wasn't that she smelled bad. It wasn't because he actually thought her repulsive. He had just never had anyone use him for comfort before and he did not care for it.

 

Hermione sighed and removed her arms from around him. He immediately backed away from her, what she thought was disgust at her display of weakness evident across his face.

 

It was actually quite the opposite. He was uneasy and hot. He wanted to grab her and it horrified him that he even wanted to do such a thing. He backed up farther and she rolled her eyes. 

 

“My god, you act like you can catch being a Mudblood.” She huffed in annoyance, but he did not hear her. 

 

He turned with a flourish that would have made Severus Snape proud and fled the room. That wasn't going to do, not at all! 

 

Hermione threw the sweltering blankets off and raced after him. In hindsight, she should have stayed put, but her temper was ruffled, as well as her pride. Hermione could hear his mind racing. He wanted to forget her touch and she knew it.  

 

Down the steps they ran until they reached the library. Any other time Hermione would have been in awe of such a magnificent room, but tonight her sole focus was forcing some kind of emotion out of the most infuriating man in existence.

 

Voldemort needed a drink and to escape this woman that he knew was following him. His temper was on edge, his patience gone. Just as he reached the stairs to the second story of the library, he turned and faced her, fury edged across his face.

 

“I did not tell you to leave that room!”

 

“What, precisely, is going to stop me, Tom? Do you honestly think you can keep me imprisoned? I have always been able to open that door, I just chose not to!” She balled her fists and placed them on her hips.

 

“I should have put you back in chains.” He ran his hand through his hair, exasperation clearly showing his mood.

 

“What good would that have done other than light my fury at you again?”

 

“I  _ want _ your fury! I  _ want _ you to hate me! Do you understand?!”  

 

Voldemort raised his wand directly at her. It would do no good but his best defence was also his worst, as far as emotions went. He wanted to kill her. The darkness in him was swirling around inside, itching to come out to cause her pain, to torture that compassionate streak she had inside of her. 

 

Hermione just stared back at him. She really did not understand. She had never wanted someone to hate her, even though some did. She wanted approval. Looking back now at all the times she studied her arse off to gain a teacher's approval, the only one to never give in to her was Severus Snape. Yet, she tried harder with him than she did with any other professor. What a thought! The one man who she knew would never like her or anything about her was the one man whose approval she craved. Was she really that needy?

 

The fight had already left her. Her inner demons and self-conscious prose were drilling holes into her brain. She missed her friends and family, all the people she loved and could just be herself with. She was stuck in a house with a madman and all of the people in the wizarding world that came in and out like a revolving door that would rather see her dead than live. 

 

“Loving anyone is a death sentence to you, isn't it, Tom?” It wasn't really a question, merely a quiet observation. 

 

He glared at the woman—beautiful and intelligent, light and dark, compassion and rage all rolled into one. Did he love her? No. 

 

He obsessed over her. He craved her like a man thirsting for his last drink, but he didn't love her. He did not know how to love. At this moment he hated the sight of her. Her fixation on love only fueled his anger further. 

 

“Love is a fool's game. You of all people should know that by now.”

 

“Love is as essential as breathing, Tom, and to never experience what a wonderous feeling it is, is simply sad.”

 

“I do not need your pity!”

 

“Pity? I do not pity you, I mourn for you. I want to help you, and I want you to know that no matter what you try and do, and no matter what you say, you are not as cold to affection as you want to believe you are.”

 

His eyes were cold, yet burned in their intensity. “You have no idea what it is I am truly capable of, Mudblood.”

 

“I have a fairly decent idea as to the extent you will go to prove your worth. I have seen firsthand the darkness inside of you, Tom Riddle. You alone have caused massive amounts of death. You alone have caused an entire world to fear that which they are. You have tried eight times to kill a boy because of a prophecy that you should have known better than to mess with!” 

 

“I can hardly be blamed for not knowing the whole prophecy,” he spat venomously.

 

“Yet, you still marked your own demise. How quintessentially ignorant.”

 

He grabbed her hard around her neck and flung her bodily against the bookshelf. 

 

“What is it you think you can do for me precisely, hmm? Teach me to love? Make me fall in love with you? I don't think so! I do not, nor will I ever need, such weakness,” he mocked. 

 

Her teeth were clenched. Her eyes narrowed further; she wasn't afraid of him.  Her hair crackled, uncontrolled magic seeping through her body. 

 

“Remove your hand or I will rip your bloody arm off and beat you to death with it.” 

 

He gripped her tighter, his force almost bruising. The intensity in his eyes matched her own. Their magics were swirling like a maelstrom around them. Books began to fly in every direction. The glass in the windows shattered.

 

“I said, remove your fucking hand, Tom Riddle.”

 

“I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be a gentleman, but if that tongue of yours keeps spewing like a rabid dog, I am going to rip it out of your mouth and choke you with it.”

 

“Go ahead, you bastard, rip out your own tongue! It would do us all a favor!”

 

“That is it!” He slammed his hands down hard on the wall next to her head.

 

She narrowed her chocolate-colored eyes and clenched her fists tightly. “Do not underestimate me, Tom Riddle, you will not like the outcome.”

 

“How can I underestimate that which should never exist to begin with?”

 

“And yet, here I am! I am alive, and I am a witch. Whether you like that fact or not, it is still true!”

 

“Until I can find a way to fix it!” he spat.

 

“I would love to see you try. Really, Tom, give it your best shot, because right now you have no choice!”

 

He picked her up, bridal style, stomped to the door and flung her out of it. 

 

She hit the marble floor, her head hitting the floor hard, and they both fell unconscious.

  
  


“Lucius, do stop fidgeting,” Severus Snape said with an annoyed sneer. 

 

Lucius sneered back. It had been a week, a bloody long and boring week, stuck inside his own home under lock and key, and he was bored. It could be worse, he supposed, they could be in the dungeons.

 

All three had awoken the morning after the ritual, only to discover they had been locked in one of the unused suites inside Malfoy Manor. They did not know the outcome of the ritual or anything that had happened since. All they had was speculation and what news they could get from the house-elves Lucius had spying around the Manor.

 

“Tippy!” Lucius bellowed, and the ancient little elf immediately came into the room.

 

“Master Lucius, whats can Tippy be’s doing for you? Is you hungry?”

 

“Have Binky and Lorde returned with news of Potter?”

 

“They has, and they says that he is stills searching for his muddy.”

 

“Muddy?” Severus asked quizzically.

 

“Hermione,” Draco answered.

 

“Is she in this house, Tippy?” Lucius asked.

 

“She is, Master Lucius, she is with him!” Tippy whispered.

 

Each of the three men swore under their breaths. They had no way of knowing that he could not hurt her. They had no way of knowing that she was tied to him forever. All they knew is the world's smartest Muggle-born was at the mercy of the world's most evil Dark Wizard.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come slide with me in Jk Rowlings playground!

Hermione woke with a splitting headache. She was cold and could barely open her eyes. Something sticky surrounded her face, and for a half a second, the thought crossed her mind that she was dead. She touched it and realized it was blood. That is when she started to panic. 

 

Tom had harmed her. Even knowing he would harm himself, he physically harmed her. She had definitely underestimated his lack of self-control where she was concerned. For the first time since the night of the ritual, she was afraid, knowing he would do such a thing.

 

She rolled to her side. The pain was intense, but she knew she had to get away before he woke up. She managed to get to her knees on the cold marble floor. The blood that she had been laying in was stark across the whiteness of it, and more was still dripping down her face. Her head was swimming with intense pain that made it feel like it was caving in. 

 

Crawling towards Tom, she found his wand and healed herself the best she could under the circumstances. She turned her head to the side where Tom had collapsed right inside the doorway of the library. His head lay cocked to the side at an awkward angle, his limbs even odder. Her first thought was that he looked like a marionette that had been thrown to the floor.  He was a beautiful man, certainly. With his dark wavy hair, impossibly long eyelashes and creamy pale skin, Hermione could understand completely how women would have fawned over him. Hell, she could even understand why Bellatrix did, but that did not mean he wasn't crazy. 

 

In retrospect, she did push him far too much, but it was her nature to fight back and not cower. She was a damn Gryffindor, after all—a Gryffindor in a den full of snakes, the leader of which was her bond mate. Unintentionally so, but she’d had the thought before that no matter her fate, she would not have done anything differently. 

 

One thing was absolutely certain at this moment, though, she had to leave. Even if he could hear her thoughts, he wouldn't be able to track her. Knowing she only had moments before he would wake in a fury, Hermione stumbled her way to the front door of Malfoy Manor. She ran as fast as her lungs would handle, down the driveway and away from Tom Riddle.

 

______________________________________

 

Voldemort woke on the floor with a crying Bellatrix draped across his body. Her mass of black, curly hair was choking him.

 

“Get off me!”

 

“Master?”

 

“Now, Bella, you are choking me.”

 

Bellatrix hurriedly backed a few feet from her master, her eyes still brimming with tears, her hair even frizzier than normal and her perennial black dress wrinkled. Her gaze was still fixed on Voldemort as he sat up and positioned himself against the door frame. 

 

“I need water,” he managed to choke out. 

 

Bellatrix snapped her fingers and a house-elf appeared.

 

“Bring him water,  _ now _ !”

 

“Stop screaming,” Voldemort hissed in pain. He already felt like he was running a marathon, and now his head felt like it would implode. 

 

“Do you need me to call the Healer, Master?”

 

“No, just leave me alone. I will be fine.”

 

“But—”

 

“Go, Bellatrix, before I Crucio you!”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

Bellatrix got to her feet and slowly made her way out of the foyer. 

 

Voldemort was panting. His chest was constricted and his side hurt as bad as his head. She was running.

 

_ “Where are you, you little shit!” _

 

Silence.

 

_ “Mudblood, I am speaking to you!” _

 

Silence still.

 

_ “Hermione Granger!” _

 

_ “It is about time you learned my damn name.”  _ She was breathless, even in her head.

 

_ “I have  _ always _ known your damn name, Mudblood, I simply choose not to use it!” _

 

_ “Well, you will simply remain whatever name  _ I  _ choose to call you then.” _

 

The growl that reverberated inside Hermione's head made her chuckle.

 

_ “You sound irritated, Tom.” _

 

_ “Where the bloody hell are you?” _

 

_ “Away from you, Tom.” _

 

_ “When I find you…” _

 

_ “You won't find me, Tom. Not if I do not wish to be found.” _

 

_ “It is terribly funny how you think so.” _

 

_ “No, not really. After all, I have been hiding from you for years and you did not find me until I made it so you could.” _

 

_ “Your confidence in your own ability is astounding for someone like you.”  _

 

His skin was slick with perspiration. He was clammy and cold. He was breathing hard, but he could tell she had stopped running, at least. His initial anger abated somewhat. He still needed to find out where she was.

 

_ “Someone like me? You must mean brightest witch of my age, exceptionally talented and best friend of Harry Potter.” _

 

_ “Impudent Mudblood bitch!” _

 

_ “Narcissistic psychopath! We could do this all day and still keep trading insults!” _

 

_ “You have some damn nerve, trying to act superior to me!” _

 

_ “I do not believe anyone is superior to anyone else, Tom, I simply wish you could see the value of other living beings, and not just as something to rule over or use for your own sadistic purposes!” _

 

A pain began to bloom inside of Voldemort’s chest, an emotion he did not understand and certainly had never felt before. His heart felt broken in half, but that couldn't possibly be, since he knew for a fact it was still beating. He felt tainted, impure and lost. How could one person have so many emotions at one time? He tried to summon the anger he’d felt earlier but the residual pain from Hermione’s emotional turmoil was wreaking havoc on him. 

 

“ _ Stop being so damn emotional, emotions are useless. All they cause is error in judgement and weakness of character.”  _

 

Voldemort knew she was trying not to cry. Damn Gryffindors.

 

_ “Emotions are human nature, Tom.”   _ Even this thought was like a whisper inside his mind.

 

_ “Emotions make you weak. It erases your power, makes you vulnerable.” _

 

The malice dripping from those words made Hermione cringe. These were the words of a sociopath, of someone who did not value a person in any way.

 

_ “Have you really never felt anything other than anger?” _

 

_ “I do not need all of those so-called ‘human emotions’ you value so much, Mudblood. Love makes a person stupid and vain, even the so-called love of a mother is pointless. Sympathy makes you weak in the eyes of everyone around you, and no one is ever going to look out for you other than yourself.” _

 

_ “The happiest day of my life was the day Professor McGonagall came to my home and told me there was a reason why I could do the things I could do; that I was special and I wasn't insane for believing in magic. I vowed to do everything I could to learn and finally be accepted by those who were special like me. I was always top of my class. I always did my best in everything I learned. I even brewed Polyjuice Potion in my second year and made a full corporeal Patronus in my fifth!  Even having faced a werewolf, a Cerberus named Fluffy, being petrified by your damn Basilisk, having helped Harry in every  _ stupid _ idea he came up with, I am still looked down upon because I am Muggle-born!  I am tired of proving my worth to someone who doesn't even value human life, Tom. Since the moment you met me, you decided I am no more than scum on the bottom of a cesspool that you honestly believe you can destroy! I have done more extraordinary things in 19 years than most of your followers have done in a lifetime, and I am absolutely sick to death of trying to carve my place into a society that considers me less than human!”  _

 

_ “Enough you damn harpy!”  _

 

_ “No! You started this conversation, so we will finish it. Do you seriously think I follow Harry out of pity or because I am weak? Out of a sense of misguided loyalty, perhaps?  All of us follow him because he is our brother, because he would walk through hell for any one of us! I would do anything to protect him from anyone who wanted to kill him. It isn't a weakness, it’s because I love him. I love all of them and I know they love me as well.” _

 

_ “And you don't see this as a weakness? All this has done is get you captured and bound to me!” _

 

_ “No, it isn't a weakness, it’s called family, Tom. I chose to do that ritual. I was in no way forced to do so. Family isn't always blood related. We make our own families, we choose who we show loyalty to, or to find the goodness in a weak character and build them up to be strong and compassionate. It isn't weakness, it is strength. I would walk through hell for Harry and Ron and believe me they would do the same for me.” _

 

Jealousy, a feeling he had not experienced since he was a child, was clawing at his insides. Voldemort wanted that kind of loyalty—freely given, not forced into submission. He could invoke terror into anyone but Harry bloody Potter could gain this type of loyalty just by existing. 

 

It was one word, a simple word with so much meaning it actually made his heart hurt. He had never wanted or needed a family. He had always been alone, and it had served him well for decades. Now, however, the idea of having that which he never wanted before was making his mind melt and his heart race. He wanted those things. He wanted those things with  _ her _ . That alone was enough to commit to a life of solitude and pain, but to actually want the love of a family? It was such a foreign concept, he could not begin to imagine it.

 

A sudden scream pierced his skull.

 

“ _ Tom!” _   
  


_ To be continued…. _


	6. Chapter 6

Pain, the likes of which he had never felt before, coursed through his body, setting his blood on fire and ripping his brain from his skull.

 

_ “No! Stop! Please stop!” _

 

Hermione was chanting this over and over, her voice becoming more frantic with each passing second.

 

_ “Who is hurting you?” _

 

He needed to find out and quickly, before both of them ended up dead.

 

_ “B-Be-BELLATRIX!” _

 

He could see the word ‘MUDBLOOD’ appearing on his right forearm. The sting from Bellatrix’s cursed blade was causing his own body to grow weaker just as Hermione's voice was growing weaker as well. The scene of her being tortured by Bellatrix flashed before his eyes. She was in serious danger. His instinct to protect his bonded mate roared to life.

 

Pulling his wand up from the floor where he continued to sit, he activated the Dark Mark. Immediately, the pain of being carved up ceased. Within moments, Voldemort's Death Eaters began to appear in front of him.

 

Seeing their confusion as to why their Master was slumped on the floor, made him hiss in displeasure. Voldemort looked at each of those gathered, expecting to see the wild-haired woman falling to her knees in front of him, yet she was not there. 

 

“My Lord, do you require assistance?” Antonin Dolohov asked curiously.

 

“No!” Voldemort roared as he managed to get up from the floor.

 

“I specifically told each of you to leave the Mudblood alone! She is mine to torture or kill as I see fit! I will not allow such disobedience go unpunished. No one will attack me and live! Find Bellatrix and the Mudblood. Bring them to me. Neither are to be harmed by your hands, believe me, I will know if they are,” he hissed, his displeasure evident to everyone in the room.

 

A collective “Yes, My Lord!” could be heard throughout the foyer.

 

Voldemort let them leave with the assumption Bellatrix tried to harm him, it would be the only logical explanation any of them would come to. He was weaker than he had ever been before, even compared to when he’d lost his body and was less than a ghost. Bellatrix would pay for this deceit even if he made her husband do so in her stead. 

 

______________________________________

 

Hermione almost lost consciousness around the time Bellatrix started to carve into her arm with the cursed silver dagger she always carried around. Her thoughts were scattered. Her brain felt like it was being erased.

 

“You think you can take the Dark Lord from me, Mudblood? Do you really think he is going to fall in love with a Mudblood child? I have always been here.  _ Me!  _ I will  _ never  _ let you get your filthy arse near him  _ again!” _

 

A thin trickle of blood dripped onto the grass beside Hermione’s arm. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the crazed woman on top of her hold the cursed blade to her throat.

 

“You have no idea what you are doing, Bellatrix, but I promise when you do, you will wish for death before he is done with you.” 

 

Hermione spoke so calmly and quietly that Bellatrix wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly.

 

“You obviously have no idea that whatever you do to me is done to Tom, as well. You just carved ‘MUDBLOOD’ into the arm of your Master, you crazy lunatic.”

 

“ _ Liar!”  _ Bellatrix screamed, and she stabbed Hermione in the right shoulder with the silver dagger.

 

A piercing scream erupted from Hermione's mouth.

 

“Not lying,” Hermione sobbed, as Bellatrix dug the blade deeper into her shoulder. “But I promise you, Voldemort will not be merciful.” 

 

Hermione knew the name was taboo. Her use of it would bring someone,  _ anyone _ , even if they only wished to capture her.

 

“How  _ dare _ you!  _ How dare you! You crazy Mudblood bitch! You dare speak his name! You filthy Mudblood whore!”  _

 

The crazed look in her eyes made Hermione fear her death for the first time since Bellatrix caught her running through the woods on the back-side of Malfoy Manor.

 

Thunderous sounds of Apparition could be heard nearby as Voldemort’s Death Eaters began the search for the half-crazed lunatic and the Mudblood.

 

“Time's up, Mudblood!” Bellatrix cackled.

 

She raised her dagger to pierce Hermione’s heart when a hand grabbed her and forcibly threw her to the ground. Bellatrix regained her footing quickly and lunged once more at Hermione, but she was dragged back by her hair. 

 

“Incarcerous!” someone yelled, and Bellatrix fell with a thunk on top of Hermione, effectively knocking the wind out of her. 

 

“Stupefy!” another person yelled, and Bellatrix went stiff.

 

“Crazy bitch. You would think attacking the Dark Lord would have been enough.” 

 

The people talking came into the clearing from the woodline above Hermione’s head.

 

“She hasn't been all there since she left Azkaban, Rodolphus.” 

  
  


That was Dolohov; she would know that voice anywhere. That voice alone was the source of many of her nightmares.

 

_ “Tom, please tell me you sent these two here to find us,”  _ Hermione pleaded, but there was no response. The voice in her head was quiet. Hermione began to panic again.  _ “Tom!” _

 

Nothing.

 

“ _ Voldemort! Fine, you win, just bloody well answer me!” _

 

A chuckle reverberated inside her mind.

 

Hermione felt Bellatrix being lifted off of her and she began to fight with a furious vigor she certainly did not feel, when she felt hands reaching for her.

 

“Dammit, hold still!” Dolohov scooped her off the frozen ground. “I was told to bring you back unharmed and that is  _ precisely  _ what I intend to do. So stop!”

 

Hermione's eyes went wide with the knowledge that she was not to be harmed and she stopped fighting, even though she was still stiff in the arms of Antonin Dolohov.

 

“ _ Yes, they are there to retrieve you.”   _

 

Tom's voice sounded inside her head. He had not called her Mudblood. He had not called her by her name, either, but he definitely had  _ not _ called her Mudblood. That, at least, was an improvement from earlier. Or perhaps he had simply seen this as a triumph and did not feel the need to remind her of it.

 

They Apparated back to the front door of Malfoy Manor. Rodolphus had Bellatrix slung over his left shoulder, and Dolohov carried Hermione bridal style.

 

“I can walk.” she reminded Dolohov.

 

“Not until my Lord says you can,” Dolohov argued.

 

“Hmmph,” was all the reply she made. Arguing with the massive Russian was futile and she knew it.

 

She folded her arms across her chest but winced at the pain from the cuts Bellatrix made and she quickly unfolded them again.

 

Entering the foyer of Malfoy Manor, Hermione noticed it had been returned to its previous pristine condition. Tom was not on the floor, and there was no blood staining the stark white of the marble. 

 

An ancient house-elf met them at the bottom of the stairs and pointed to the library.

 

Tom was sitting in a comfortable-looking, dark, leather wingback chair next to a roaring fireplace. He was holding a crystal tumbler filled with an amber liquid that Hermione guessed must be Firewhiskey.  

 

He looked up from the fire he had been staring at and stared right at Hermione. Just the sight of Dolohov holding her made his blood boil. No one was  _ ever _ going to touch her again. His eyes flicked up to the imposing Russian and immediately Dolohov set her down.

 

“I  _ told _ you I could walk,” she muttered.

 

Voldemort took in her appearance. She was filthy, covered in dried blood, dirt and leaves. Her hair was matted and was bushier than he had ever seen it before. Her clothes were tattered and covered in mud. All in all, she was better than he had expected, but still looked bad enough to make him want to torture Bellatrix LeStrange for a century before finally letting her die.

 

“Take Bellatrix to the dungeon, I will deal with her later,” he growled at Rodolphus. “If you attempt to help her in  _ any _ way, I will kill you first.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Rodolphus muttered, and turned to take her down to the dungeons.

 

“You are dismissed, Dolohov.” Voldemort waved his hand to the door, never taking his eyes off of Hermione. Antonin bowed briefly and walked back out of the library.

 

Hermione stood as straight as she could manage, which in the condition she was in still made her look like she was falling down.

 

“Let me see your arm,” he commanded.

 

Hermione held out her arm from where she was standing. The look he gave her made her laugh out loud.

 

“Come here, Hermione.”

 

It was the simple use of her name that made her feet begin to move closer to him. As soon as she was close enough to reach, he grabbed her and sat her on his lap. 

 

“Hey!” Hermione screeched.

 

“Show me.” This simple phrase was spoken softly, but she saw it for what it was, regardless. It  absolutely was a demand, one he would not take ‘no’ as an answer to.

 

Hermione stuck her arm out for him to examine. He brought his wand up and as he began to chant in a beautiful sing-song voice, the wound knit itself back together. Not even a pink outline was left when he was done.

 

“Let me see your shoulder.”

 

Hermione tried to pull the side of her shirt down, but the blood that had poured from the stab wound had already begun to dry, and the cloth was stuck to it. Tears began to pour down as she tried to pry it loose, but the pain was becoming too much now that the adrenaline that had coursed through her veins had dissipated.

 

Voldemort stopped her from pulling on the clotted material. He picked her up even though he was still in pain himself, stood, and Apparated into the bedroom they shared. He walked them both into the ensuite and used his foot to turn on the water in the bathtub. 

 

“Take off as much of your clothing as you can manage.”

 

That was easier said than done, however. She managed to kick off her pajama pants and to get out of her knickers, but the rest she could not stand to touch.

 

Voldemort had already stripped and sat down in the tub, waiting for her to finish. He held out his hand to her, and she took it and walked into the almost scalding water. 

 

The hot water made her cold limbs burn and feel numb. Hermione fell against him, her hands grabbing his shoulders as her knees gave way, and she landed between his legs, her face buried in his hair. 

 

Hermione tried to regain her balance, but he grabbed her waist and held her firmly still. 

 

“Sit down slowly so we can get this shirt off.” 

 

She complied, turning herself around so she could fully sit down in the water.

 

“Move forward and lay against me.”

 

Hermione laid her head against his stomach and he began to pour warm water over her wound. Both winced in pain as Voldemort gently began to peel the wet cloth off of her shoulder. 

 

“You don't seem to be as angry as I assumed you would be.” 

 

Hermione had spoken so softly he had a hard time hearing what she said.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Nothing...it's nothing.”

 

“If you think this will go unpunished, Hermione, believe me it will not.”

 

“For whom, Tom?”

 

His grip tightened painfully around her waist.

 

“For both of you.”

 

“Getting stabbed and carved like a Christmas goose obviously doesn't count, then?” she huffed.

 

“No, it does not. You brought that on yourself by trying to run away.”

 

“You  _ threw _ me out of a door! What was I supposed to do, let you believe that harming me was fine?”

 

Was it fine? He did not even know any longer. He did know this game they were playing had become dangerous on many,  _ many _ different levels. He needed to clear his mind of all of these emotions she pushed into him every second of every day. He needed release, but what  _ kind _ of release he really couldn't say. One moment he wanted to kill her and the next he wanted to tie her down and fuck her until she could never walk again. 

 

“It still does not change the fact that you ran away from me.”

 

“Yes, because once again I remind you that  _ you threw me out of a door!” _

 

_ “ _ Perhaps you will not mind being punished so very much, Hermione.” He drew her closer to him and licked the outside of her ear.


	7. Chapter 7

_ Each one longed for it’s other half, and so they would throw their arms around each other, weaving themselves together, wanting to grow together.” _

 

_ “Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature. Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole…and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him.” _

 

_ When a person meets the half that is his very own,” he exclaims, “something wonderful happens: the two are struck from their senses by love, by a sense of belonging to one another, and by desire, and they don’t want to be separated from one another, not even for a moment. These are people who finish out their lives together and still cannot say what it is they want from one another.” _

 

_ Plato's Symposium _

  
  


I do not own Harry Potter, I am simply shaping my own twisted mind into to minds of J.K Rowling’s characters

 

A big thank you to Sorceress KL for beta reading this chapter! 

______________________________________

  
  
  
  
  


A moan moved through her lips before she could stop it, he chuckled. His left hand began to trace the curve of her breast.

 

“The world is on fire, Hermione and no one can save you but me.”  

 

She whimpered as his roaming hands moved over her curves, the strange words he whispered did not even have a chance to register in her psyche. He could have been commenting on the weather and she would have agreed. His hands were sending waves of electricity racing across her skin, tiny volcanoes of fire with each swipe of his tongue across her neck.

 

“Do you feel this?” She breathed. 

 

His hand tangled in her unruly curls and he tilted her head to the side. Like a whispered breath against her skin, his tongue traced the vein in her neck; his hand cupped her breast. Heat, their bodies were consumed by passion neither understood. 

 

“Oh, God!” Hermione crooned when his hand slipped beneath the water to touch her folds. 

 

She clutched his arm to have something to do with her hands, the scented water sloshing against her breasts with each shaky movement she was trying to repress. Pearls of sweat were beginning to form on her brow, she bowed her head only to slam it back against his shoulder when he pinched her clit. He inserted a finger inside of her and made a beckoning gesture and her world shattered.

 

“Tom! No-I...Tom!”

 

“ _ Hmm, you are very tight.”  _

 

Even he was beyond coherent speak. His anger dissolved into calm and for the first time in his life he tasted peace. It was a heady mixture of serenity and calm, a raging vortex of emotions he had never experienced.

 

“I haven't…” she whimpered when his thumb resumed the slow torture on her clit.

 

“I know.” He said simply.

 

His hand never left its position in her folds but his other hand on her waist moved up to cup her breast again. His forefinger and middle finger rolled her nipple, and he bit her neck.

 

That simple gesture unleashed a passion Hermione had not known she possessed. She was the spitfire ice queen, she played by the rules and never had let another person do what Tom was currently doing to her body. 

 

“What a wicked thing you have done to me, little lioness. You fight me constantly and yet your body says you don’t hate me as much as you wish too. You play wicked little dreams in your head during the waking hours of things you wish you could do to me but you dream of doing this in your sleep instead. You deny what this bond is obviously doing.”

 

“I don't want to want you, Tom.”

 

“Yet you do want me, the proof is on my fingers.”

 

“I may want you physically, but that is all you will ever have of me, Tom.”

 

“So be it.”

 

He extracted his hand from her folds and placed both on her waist.

 

“Lift up.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Stand up and turn around, Hermione.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I am going to fuck you now. Because I want you to understand that no man other than me will ever fuck you. No man will  _ ever _ have you Hermione.  _ You are mine!” _

 

Perhaps it was the possessiveness in those words or perhaps she was so far gone by this point ,she obeyed him willingly. She stood up from the massive tub and turned around to face him. She placed her legs, knees bent on either side of him and sat down.

 

“Grab my shoulders.” It was not said as a command but she obeyed him anyway.

 

He lifted her and placed the his tip at her entrance.

 

“Slid down.”

 

He was larger than she anticipated, it burned and it was painful. Tom moaned when she began to slide a little further down.

 

“It hurts.” She whimpered.

 

The tight, hot hold she surrounded him with was making him see double. He gripped her waist painfully, almost bruising her skin. 

 

“Slowly.” He hissed.

 

His head found its way to her breasts, his tongue began to gently lick at the exposed mounds; they were perfect, soft and creamy, a bit small but large enough to fit nicely into his hands and even better in his mouth.

 

He was tired of fighting this constant, raging erection she elicited from him every second of the day. He never wanted this, his body had betrayed him but the soft moans coming from her as his tongue swirled around her breast and the feel of her wrapped around him as he slid down broke his resolve to stay away and fight this physical attraction.  

 

Her nails dug into his shoulders and his hands tightened on her waist when she had finally seated herself completely on him. The magic that was swirling around them both left them breathless. Tom released her waist long enough for one hand to grab the back of her hair and the other to cover the breast he was not currently sucking on. 

 

“Move, Hermione.” He lifted his head up and whispered in her ear.

 

Slowly, against the wisp of pain she started to move. It hurt, it hurt badly but the ache this bond was creating made her move. She could feel the magic, the swirling maelstrom burning inside, reaching out to him; pushing and pulling them together. 

 

The catalyst, perhaps it was unintended, happened when he finally gave in to the bond and magic exploded out of both of them. Light and dark, swirling, playing, shooting in all directions; dancing lights and wondrous sounds emitted through sex magic designed only for true soul mates. 

 

The ritual had been designed to make anyone with a split soul whole again, she played with fate when she used the power of his victims beyond the veil to help with this matter. She tied herself to him with a blood sacrifice that saw he could never intentionally harm her without feeling it himself, but to be a soul mate to him she had never entertained as part of the reason she hated him so much. 

 

Not everyone has a soul mate, and very few who do ever find them. Many who never find their other half simply stop trying and others go essentially insane; there are a few who choose to walk this world alone instead of trying to find happiness elsewhere. Many become dark, twisted and crave to make themselves worthy enough without seeking that which they find weak inside themselves.

 

Sometimes, they find that missing piece and they are already bound to another, the force of that rejection driving madness into their brains. The impact of never having fulfilled that aching need, never being able to complete that bond,can tear a person asunder with the force of it. 

 

The moment their magic collided, Hermione was transported back to the first day she smelled the Amortentia: freshly mown grass and new parchment. The second time in the department of mysteries she smelled the same and yet there had been another smell she had never smelled before, one until this moment was a foreign smell. It smelled like power and home, one she could never replicate but she knew as she looked up into his dark eyes was him.

 

His eyes bore into her, emotions swirling through his psyche; pain, loss, inadequacy, love, hate, rage, sadness...home. He pulled her closer to his chest as she continued to slowly go up and down on top of him. His hands found her bottom and helped her lift up and down, the force of their combined magic began to hurry them faster along the lines of pleasure. 

 

She was chanting his name in his ear, her warm breath sending chills down his spine. He began to lift up everytime she pivoted down, slamming into her core. He knew she was going to be in pain after all was said and done, the first time always hurt but at this moment he just did not give a damn. 

 

He was drowning in her; the feel of her long curls brushing against his thighs, the feel of her skin against his skin, her breath in his ear, her smell, her taste, the little sounds she made as he drove into her it was becoming to much. He needed control, he needed release, he needed...her.

 

Tom lifted her up enough put her on the floor outside of the tub. Crawling over her he lifted her legs onto his shoulders and eased his way back into her. His hands began to explore her body, his eyes never left hers even as he picked up speed.  He caressed her sides, her legs, her breasts; he drew his hand from her breast to her folds and began to rub her clit again. 

 

Just so you know,” he whispered in her ear as he thrust deeper into her “the next time you try and leave me I will kill everyone you hold dear, Hermione.”

 

Her breathing was coming in pants, her body was shaking from the intensity of the moment and she didn't hear anything he was saying to her. His magic was slamming into hers over and over, his hands were caressing her leaving fire trails across her skin; she was too hot and she was still shivering. He pinched her clit and the force that had threatened to boil over erupted. She didn't scream, but she promptly slammed her eyes shut, she clung to whatever on him she could reach and dug her nails in.

 

It was too much, a sensory overload in the most pleasurable possible way imaginable. The magic surrounding them splintered in all directions, causing everything in the room to explode at one time but neither of them noticed as she was still in the throes of a powerful orgasm and he was still pivoting in and out of her in at an insane rate with as much force as he could possibly muster.

 

He watched her come undone, the force of her magic slamming into him harder than he had ever felt before and made him speed up. The intensity was beginning to overwhelm him, for a man who craved control this was fast becoming unbearable. Her legs were shaking frantically on his shoulders, her nails embedded in his thighs. He watched has her eyes slammed shut, when the dam finally broke forth, he heard her silent screams in his head. Screaming his name over and over.

 

His hands that had been holding her hips slammed to the floor on either side of her head. He slowed himself down, going deeper inside if her. Her hands found his hair and she tugged, he captured her mouth, stealing what little breath she had regained. At that very moment he wanted to consume her, to bury himself so deep inside of her, he would well and truly sit within her soul.

 

He came with a roar, hot need pouring out of him inside of her, he released her mouth and quickly bit down hard on her shoulder. She screamed, somewhere in the back of his mind he registered it but his brain was too fogged with pleasure to know if it had been born of pain.

 

He collapsed on top of her, both were sweaty and panting, both in need of another bath, but he could not seem to make his limbs move far enough to get back into the water.  He felt her hands embrace him, she buried her hands back into his now sweat drenched hair. He lifted his head up enough to look at her, she was beautiful, more beautiful than he could ever remember her being before. Her long, curls lay fanned out around her, and her eyes were lit up almost glowing in their sockets. Her parted pink lips were speaking but he could not understand what she was saying at that moment, so he kissed her to shut her up. 

 

They did not get to bask in post coitel bliss for long though, something was not right. He looked around at the destruction they had caused and a warning went off in his brain, the wards had been breached.

  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

“Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy, he thought. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. Yippee.”   
J.R. Ward, Dark Lover (Black Dagger Brotherhood, #1)

  
  


Chapter 8

 

“What the bloody hell are you doing!” Hermione screeched as Tom forcefully pulled her off the floor and flung her over his shoulder. He walked quickly to the bedroom and dumped her in the floor next to the four poster; already he was summoning clothing for both of them. The next bath would just have to wait. 

 

“Get dressed!” Tom yelled throwing the summoned dress and under clothes towards her as he was already beginning to shimmy into his own.

 

Either she didn't feel the wards breaking or she simply was to indignant by the actual cause of her prickly skin it seemed to take a moment for her to realize Tom was panicking and furious. 

 

_ What the bloody hell is going on now!? _

 

Her inner rant was tiring and above that she was tired of fighting, period.  She really couldn't grasp why he was rushing to get dressed so quickly. 

 

“Do you really want your precious Potter to find you naked on the floor!” He spat at her.

 

“Harry? What...NO!” Now she understood, Harry was coming for her. She gasped, even with her sluggish brain she finally understood what was happening. The Order of the Phoenix was on a rescue mission. Whether it was she or Draco, Lucius and Severus, they had dismantled the wards of Malfoy Manor.

The sound of curses flying below caught her attention for the first time and she finally began to don the clothing Tom had thrown at her.

 

_ “Harry!”  _ She shouted and flew to the door, eager to join her friends in fighting only to be met with a barrier so strong she was knocked back a good five feet before she landed in a heap at Tom’s feet. 

“What the actual fuck do you think you are doing!” she screeched, fury rising like a tide inside of her.  

 

Tom stared down at her, his eyes were cold and ruthless, this wasn't Tom,  _ this _ was Voldemort. 

 

“You forget yourself mudblood.” He had not shouted and anyone not looking properly would have sworn the calm facade was real. Hermione knew better; it was the unfeeling nature, the cold raging fury that was shining on his eyes that made her pause. Since the night they had done the ritual Hermione had only seen ‘Tom’ he had not been ‘Voldemort’. Even when he threw her out of the door, chained her to a floor and left her to die of hypothermia, he wasn't this angry, mad yes, but not so furious he would murder anyone and everything in his path.

 

Hermione quickly slid back across the floor, her back hit the corner of the four poster, her eyes were wide and for the first time in her short stay in Malfoy Manor she was scared beyond reasoning.  His beautiful sky blue eyes, now cold and unfeeling, followed her as she moved away from him. He wasn't going to move to help her up but he certainly didn't move to hurt her either. 

 

Outside the door, the sound of fighting was getting closer; curses and hexes were lighting up the spaces around the doorframe. Spell after spell could be heard from a plethora of voices that were beginning to drown out the screaming inside her head. Hermione's face drained of color, today could possibly be the day she died; if Harry got into the room, he wouldn't hesitate to kill Voldemort and along with him she would perish as well.  

 

“ _ I am prepared to die, Tom, are you?” _

 

He seemed to have the same thought as Hermione, but no he definitely was  _ not _ prepared to die; even less by the hand of Harry bloody Potter. Quicker than she could blink, Tom pulled her up in front of him, his arm wrapped tightly around her effectively pinning her arms to her side. 

 

_ You son-of-a-bitch! You are not using me as a hostage!  _

 

This thought alone made the fear she was experiencing dissipate and was replaced by enough fury to match Voldemort's already rankled ire. As before, the angry bond magic manifested and began to swirl around them, great iridescent bands swirled and lashed in every direction.

 

What she had not yet realized is this is exactly what he wanted to happen. With enough of the furious magic released, anyone outside of that door would either be knocked out or dead. Personally,he was hoping for dead, but at the moment he just needed to get them away from this house.

 

_ Them!? _

 

When the bloody hell had  _ he _ become a  _ them!  _ He did not like having anyone depending on him for anything other than being a leader and having their obedience!  He didn't want her affection,her emotions, he didn't want her at all!  

 

“ _ So why have I kept her here?”  _

 

_ “Why indeed!?”   _ She retorted.

 

That was a thought he would have to examine later.

 

_ “The moment that ritual was complete, Tom, we were bound! All of this is a product of your own making and your selfish, self- righteous preservation!”  _ She nearly shouted in his mind. 

 

This caused more angry magic to swirl.

 

“No need to provoke you further, I will simply think about having to protect you, mudblood bitch, and you will be angry enough.” 

 

What was meant to be a thought unspoken had been whispered aloud; and she heard it being pressed against him  If he assumed their combined magic, swirling around them, had been powerful before, it was nothing compared to the tsunami that occurred almost instantaneously after having voiced that thought aloud.

 

The great magical bands expanded, filling the massive bedroom, the energy barely being contained bowed the walls; the sizzle of the ever growing heat set the carpet ablaze around them. Glass and wood splintered and evaporated into dust.  There was a gaping hole where once the window sat in her depression. The carpet was burning and frayed, where it had once been been green now a blazing black char. The particles in the air imploded with the sheer magnitude of their combined magics making it hard to breathe.Tom and Hermione stood back to front staring at the hole where the door should be, charred wood and smoke rising from the hallway began to choke Hermione and she started to cough. The force by which the house shook when the magic became too unstable to hold was magnificent; the entire house shook with the force of their combined fury, the ancient house was left in ruins.

 

The fighting outside stopped, only the sound of groaning wood could be heard in the deafening silence and it seemed they were the only two left standing in the aftermath.

 

Tom's hold tightened around her making her already labored breathing worse, he walked forward making her lose balance, her knees almost buckling underneath her.

 

“Walk.” He hissed into her ear.

 

Really she had no choice in the matter, he had her trapped against him in a vice like grip so strong she could have sworn he placed a sticking charm on her. They walked awkwardly into the ruined hallway;  the scene before her made bile rise in her throat, she rapidly blinked her eyes to keep from drying and vomiting. 

 

Bodies lay along the hallway, black and charred in grotesque positions. The eyes of some had been burned out, while others had their hands fused to their faces where the skin had melted together. Patches of flesh burned away to reveal bone and flesh slightly smouldering in the aftermath of their combined destructive magic. 

 

There was no recognizable person in the crowd even though she knew in her heart they had been fighting on her side; the side of good and light. Some were likely her her friends, some were likely people she went to Hogwarts with. Maybe she had shared a meal or a laugh with, but there was no way of knowing and now they would never eat or laugh again.

 

The tears that had only threatened to fall burst forth when she looked near the end of the hallway, a tuft of auburn hair was sticking to the end of the wall.

 

“NO!” The scream that burst forth Hermione made Voldemort relinquish his hold to clasp his own ears. She stumbled to the patch, falling down to her knees, still sobbing to examine it. There was no blood, just hair sticking out, contrasting with the stark color of the aged cream colored wallpaper, now an ashy gray and black. Most of the wall and ceiling was missing, letting moonlight pour into the area around them.

 

Her heart clenched painfully, her first thought being Ron; her first crush, one of her best friends.

Harry and Ron, they had all been through so much together. The pain was unbearable. 

 

“HERMIONE!” Someone screamed from below, she knew that voice.

 

“RON!” She screamed back and was abruptly hauled to her feet into the same position she was before. She was trapped again.

 

Footsteps could be heard ascending the broken stairway, 

 

“No! Go back, Ron!”  

 

But, no sound had come from her, Voldemort had cast a silencing hex on her. He backed them to the wall at the top of the stairs, wand pointed out waiting. 

 

Hermione tried to wiggle out of his hold only for him to squeeze her tighter against him.

 

“Stand still or I will kill him the moment he tops those stairs.” He hissed against her ear; she stopped wiggling, standing like a statue waiting to see if the boy she loved would be murdered in front of her eyes. 

 

_ One breath. _

 

_ Footsteps on the stairs. _

 

_ Two breaths. _

 

_ Hermione shut her eyes. _

 

_ Three breaths. _

 

_ “ Please don't come up here, Ron.”   _

 

Her distressed inner monologue and swirling emotions were hitting, Tom, in gigantic waves of jealousy.  Her love for this blood traitor was only making him more deadly than he had been before. She had quickly become his most prized possession, one he had never wanted and now he would never and could never give up. 

 

“Come with me willingly, mudblood, and I won't kill the blood traitor.” 

 

Hermione could hear Ron's labored breathing,could smell the sweat pouring off of him; his steps grew louder on the creaking wooden stairs, he was almost to the top. She couldn't watch him die, not if she could save him.

 

_ “Yes.”   _ It was a simple acknowledgement but it was enough; her voice was shaky, her nerves were jarred. She had to save him.

 

Just as Ron reached the top of the stairs, Voldemort threw a purple curse at him, one Hermione knew quite well,  knocking him back down the stairs. It was the same curse Antonin Dolohov hit her with in the Department of Mysteries years before, a curse that still pained her. 

 

“NO!” She screamed, but in the blink of an eye Voldemort turned on the spot and apparated them away from Malfoy Manor.


	9. Chapter 9

I want to take a moment to address something; this story is AU, Tomione is not canon and never will be. The fact the Hermione is not acting like canon Hermione is because this story is NOT canon! Tom/Voldemort's personality isn't canon either, this story is a product of my own head, it is fanfiction! If I wrote them the way JK Rowling wrote them then that would be extremely boring and there would be no story. I respect the fact that some only want to see canon pairings but the point of this story is not canon and if you don't like Hermione/Tom Riddle pairing why read and review with a nasty comment?

For those of you who like this story, I appreciate every one of the kind reviews. I am working hard to finish this story and all other WIP stories I have as well.

I also apologize for the long wait, this chapter took me a while to get right. I wrote this one at least 5 times before I got here, I am not completely satisfied with it but it does progress the story.

As always I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter, I do not make money off of this.

Now on with the story!!

Chapter 9

They landed on the edge of a forest surrounded by a field capped in snow. The oddly beautiful but eerie scenery was lost on Hermione as the feeling of having been squeezed through a tube while screaming, crying and falling in a heap next to Voldemort, promptly caused her to vomit all over the icy ground.

Voldemort jumped back in revulsion at having been nearly vomited on, his expression was murderous; he was still emitting angry magic. The residual energy generated sparks that began to melt the snow around them.

Hermione wiped her mouth of vomit and stood up to lean against the nearest tree. The shock and emotional turmoil she felt for the last twenty-four hours burst forth, dry wracking heaves left her doubled over as pools of tears cascaded down her ashen face. The horrifying scene at Malfoy Manor made her second guess the decision to do that thrice-damned ritual for the first time; the bodies of friend and foe alike, burned and gruesome in death, would weigh on her mind for an eternity. The most prevalent realization at the moment was: she had a hand in that destruction. Her total indignation over his treatment of her caused a dozen people to die and likely more to be injured all because she lost her damned temper. She was a murderer. Even if it had not been intentional on her part, just knowing she had a hand in it; that made it all much worse to comprehend and forgive.

Ron, sweet simple pig-headed Ron. That pain was still too fresh to think about. That curse was horrible when it had been spoken aloud even if Dolohov had been silenced when he cast it on her, Voldemort had done it wordlessly but not silenced. She could only hope Harry got to him in time; if he hadn't Tom Riddle would know the meaning of furious magic.

“You lying fucking bastard.” The whispered rage she found herself in made her shake.

The crackling energy from before was pouring off of her in waves; sapphire blue energy surrounded her and even Voldemort backed away from her.

“You sick, twisted, conniving evil bastard.”

The more he continued to glare at her, the more her magic manifested and the more she moved toward him.

“You better pray to whatever demons you invoke--whatever devil holds the right to your soul--that he isn't dead, or I will personally rip your organs out piece by bloody piece...the Muggle way.”

The force by which she expelled the excessive magic was magnificent; Voldemort was thrown ten feet before he quickly threw up a shield to cushion his fall.

“Control yourself!” He hissed in Parseltongue.

Hermione's eyes widened, she understood the hissing sounds. She had so often wondered what Harry was saying when he did such things when he lost control of his temper.

“It isn't safe here, move!”

Voldemort grabbed her arm roughly, dragging her inside the copse of trees into the forest.

Hermione was being dragged by her arm but she was still furious, she was too distracted to pay attention to exactly where they were going. Thoughts raced through her psyche causing her head to feel as if it may rupture. One thing she was absolutely sure of was she was cold and her bare feet were frozen solid, she had not even thought about shoes while getting dressed in such a hurry. The thin dress was frozen to her cold sweat soaked body and her unruly frizzy brown hair was half-tucked into the back of the collar causing her neck to itch. Expelling so much magic made her feel weak, however, even in her exhaustive state, adrenalin was raging like fiendfyre through her veins. She wanted to murder him, disembowel him slowly and laugh, dance and be absolutely elated to watch the life extinguish from his corpse.

She caught her bare foot on a fallen branch and stumbled only to be dragged a few feet before she threw off his hand to stand up. She looked around at the dense forest, it wasn't familiar, she wasn't even sure they were still in Great Britain. The trees were mangled, they reminded her of arthritic fingers jutting from the ground. A thick layer of rotten leaves covered every surface, the deep smell of rich soil and cold permeated the air around her. She could hear the agitated rustle of wild animals running from the magic they were both emitting.

The shock was beginning to wear off only to be replaced by a myriad of emotions flashing through her, lightening bolts one after the other, logic mixed with stress-induced emotions made her feel deadly. She knew what she had to do even if she had no damn idea where she was and no damn idea how she was going to accomplish it.

Voldemort grabbed her arm again and began to pull her further through the woods, wherever they were headed Hermione felt certain it would be someplace he had warded himself which meant he knew precisely where they were and where they were headed. He may be a raving lunatic but he certainly wasn't stupid.

An hour later they stepped into a clearing, nothing significant yet he stopped. She felt the wards being lifted and looked on curiously as a door inserted into a small hill no bigger than the size of a car appeared.

She was being dragged forward again, this time inside the small hobbit sized dwelling, it was much bigger inside; of course, it was, she shouldn't have been surprised by anything that magic could produce any longer but this certainly had. Vaulted ceilings were lined with thick wooden beams; they were dusty and covered in cobwebs but extremely sturdy. The walls were dark paneled wood lined with sconces filled with half-burned candles. Low, bulging, crudely made bookshelves filled with books and scrolls lined the dark paneled wall along the hall they were standing in. Flagstone covered the floor; it was cold against her bare feet and caused shivers to race along her body.

Voldemort pushed her forward into a large cavernous room; it was decorated with greens and dark wood much as the hallway had been. A long very dated sofa and a squishy armchair both dusty and graying from age and disuse sat in front of an enormous stone fireplace along the back wall of the cavernous room. A large four poster stood in the middle, the fraying heavy green curtains halfway hung along the top of the bed, an aged dark green velvet duvet covered the mattress.

“Bloody Hell! Stop with the depressing thoughts! Dammit, woman! What’s done is done, get over it!”

“Get over it. Yeah, I will get right on that; shutting my brain off and forgetting about everything that just happened because it meant nothing correct? Because losing your best friend to a murderous lunatic is a walk in the park to you, isn't it? I didn't think I could possibly hate you more than I already did but rest assured you proved me wrong, bravo.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of intelligence, Mudblood”

“I could give two shits about whether you think I am intelligent or that I am a Mudblood. I couldn't actually care any less about you if I tried. At this very moment, I want you dead. If this spell didn't prevent me from killing myself, I would do so just to watch you suffer the way you make everyone else suffer. You may think I am being dramatic, I assure you I am not; I’m being the most logical I have been in weeks and if you honestly think you have the upper hand here, you are even more delusional than I had initially realized. Welcome to being hunted Tom Riddle, you have just pissed off Harry Potter, the entire Order of the Phoenix and me. I swear if Ron Weasley is dead because of…”

“Because of you, Mudblood. You are the one who performed that ritual so the blame lays entirely upon your shoulders”

The vicious smirk that bloomed across his face would have made any other normal person back down; Hermione however, balled her fists and placed them on her hips. Her cold soaked limbs forgotten in her rage.

“Oh yes, lay the blame on me. Because I am the one hell-bent on world domination and immortality right; because I am the one with a lust for superiority and a blood trail that spans all seven continents. Yes, let's continue to blame every other person in the entire world except the one who is a bloody psychopathic narcissist with a God complex. Let's not forget that bloody ritual would never have been necessary had you not tried to kill all of humanity, Tom.”

They drifted closer together with each punctuated argument until they were nose to nose, the irony of it was completely lost on Hermione.

“You forget your place you damned Mudblood harpy.”

“My place will always be between yourself and the rest of humanity.”

Voldemort grabbed her around the waist, spinning her around to fling her bodily across the bed, but before she could manage to sit up he straddled her hips, physically holding her down on the mattress. He grabbed her hands pinning them above her head and magically bound her to the headboard with heavy metal manacles. Using his right leg he spread her legs and fastened the same manacles along her ankles.

“This my dear mudblood,” he chuckled evilly, “this is precisely where your place is, if you entertain one more foolhardy thought of trying to escape here you will never move from this bed again. If you keep using that sharp tongue of yours you will live out the remainder of your days silenced and in a full body bind.”

Hermione tried to twist him off of her but immediately regretted doing so, every turn of her body, even infinitesimally caused the heavy binds to tighten and burn painfully. She yelped when the burning sensation became a fever pitch, blisters were already beginning to form along her wrists. She stared at her captor, looking down at his arms to see the blistering occur, but it remained unblemished. The triumphant smirk on Voldemort's face caused her to recoil, he had found a way to harm her.


	10. Chapter 10

**For those of you who are still following/favorited this story. Thank you!**

 

**Chapter 10**

The explosion that rocked the very foundation of the handsome Manor house knocked Harry into a wall right outside the door where Lucius, Draco, and Severus were being held, prisoner. The door that had been sealed was splintered and blasted from the frame, all four people lay face-down in the aftermath. Draco was the first to recover, he noticed the blood pouring from Harry's face and rushed to help him. 

A blood-curdling scream echoed along the silent walls making the hair on the back of Dracos neck stand up.

_ Granger. _

Draco pulled Harry to his feet and dragged him into the room where Lucius was now checking on Severus.

“Did you hear that?” Lucius implored, “was that the Granger girl?”

“Yes, I am going to find her!” Draco rushed from the room, jumping over falling debris and burned bodies. 

The stench was revolting but he pressed on looking for signs of the witch among the deceased when he came to the staircase leading to the foyer. Draco heard a strangled groan; carefully walking down the stairs, Draco found Ron laying in a massive pool of blood. His entrails scattered along the stairway, his eyes closed but he was still grasping the rail.

“Hermione..” The red-haired man managed to say, “He took her. Gone. She is gone.” 

Draco clasped his hand, even if they had been sworn enemies, the thought of Ron dying such a gruesome death weighed on him. Voldemort was a monster, in a matter of minutes he had decimated his ranks and blew up a house that was built when Merlin still lived. Now he had Hermione at his complete mercy. 

“Hang on Ron, I will find help!”

“Not gonna make it, tell Harry...tell Harry, I'm sorry.Fi-find Hermione.” 

And he spoke no more.

Draco grabbed Ron's wand and closed his classmate's eyes; there was no need for all of this senseless killing! He shot off a patronus alerting The remaining Order members of what happened, within moments the deafening sounds of apparation filled the night sky.  The remaining Order members were left speechless. 

Sounds of running through hallways and people calling out others names echoed through the silent halls;  Draco clung to Ron's hand even when Molly fell to her knees and covered her youngest son with her own body.

“Draco, where is Harry?” The sing-song voice of Luna Lovegood broke him from his silent vigil. 

“East wing,” he managed to croak out.

Several people ran toward the direction Draco pointed. Luna knelt beside Draco and covered his hand that was clasping Rons with her own. 

“ Come, let them do their job, Draco. We need to find the others that are still alive.” Luna managed to pry Draco's hand away from Ron and pull him to his feet. She clasped his hand and pulled him down the stairs.

“Who is left in the dungeons?”

“I-I don't know.”

Luna nodded and drug Draco along beside her to see if anyone was in fact still left alive down there. Her own experience with the place was not as bad as it should have been thanks to Draco and Lucius, they had kept her and most of them alive and fed. Those prisoners that were ordered to be executed were sent away if they could be and those that couldn't at least died in the least painful way possible.

The path leading to the dungeons wasn't nearly as destroyed as the top of the stairs but there was still destruction. The walls and floor were cracked like spider webs splintering in all directions, most of the people had merely been knocked out instead of burned alive. Draco and Luna put each person knocked out, in a full body bind to keep them from fleeing before help could arrive.

The stairs leading to the dungeon was blocked by debris falling from the stone floor above it, it took several long minutes to clear the way before reaching the cells. Luna called out to whoever was being held there but no one answered. There was a goblin huddled in one corner eyeing the humans with distaste, a young boy was laying flat on the floor his eyes unblinking staring at the roof, blood fanned around his head like a halo. There was so much blood, everywhere.

“He's dead.” the goblin spat.

Luna started to cry for the young boy, he couldn't have been more than eleven, probably a first-year whos family went against the Dark Lord. Draco folded her in his arms and rested his chin atop her head, just senseless murder.

“Is there anyone else down here?” Draco asked looking at the angry goblin.

“There was but the crazy black-haired witch fled after the explosion.”

“Bellatrix was being held prisoner here? Why!?”

“How should I know, all she kept muttering about was something to do with a girl she called Mudblood bitch!”

Luna gasped, “Hermione!”

Draco’s hold on her tightened, they needed to find his crazy aunt and quickly before anyone else lost their lives that night.

Draco unlocked the door and told the goblin to go as far away from the manor as he could, the goblin nodded and kept to his feet running as fast as he could manage toward the door. 

“Are you hurt?” Luna inquired and the goblin stopped to look curiously at the witch, no human ever bothered with the welfare of goblins.

“I will be fine,” he growled and ran up the stairs.

__________ ___________ ___________ 

“Severus, wake up!” But he still lay unconscious on the floor. 

Harry moaned behind Lucius and he spun around to find the young man kneeling and holding his head. His glasses were broken and his head was still pouring blood where he had been thrown against the wall. 

“Mippy!” Lucius yelled and the terrified house elf popped into the room. 

“Master!” The elf squeaked when he saw the occupants of the room. 

Severus coughed loudly, Lucius and Harry both jerked their heads around to look at him. 

“What has happened, Mippy? What caused this?” Lucius pleaded with the little elf.

“He and the Muddy blows up the house!” The elf squeaked.

“Blew it up how?!”

“That bond magic, Master, its gots to big and blows up! There be’s dead peoples everywheres!”

“Son of a bitch!” Severus cursed loudly, “we have to find a way to break this damned bond before they blow up the country!”

“Or the entire world.” Harry muttered, “ I need to find that damn book and see why she used her own blood as an anchor. There has to be some reason!”

“Because seven, Potter, is the most powerfully magical number. If he had only made one or even went so far as six it wouldn't have required blood sacrifice at all, but because he made seven it was binding and required not only blood but a divine power to stabilize the power of the ritual. Not only that, but two Horcruxes had already been destroyed, if there had been no anchor you would have died and so would everyone bearing the Dark Mark it would have drawn the power and it would have had no guide to sway it back to where it was meant to be. I am not saying what she did was right, but we both know Miss. Granger would not have allowed that much death without her sacrificing herself to try and prevent it. The next thing to remember, is by doing so she has tied her own physical well being to that monster, so if he dies right now, so does she.” Harry swore under his breath at Snape's explanation, he was right Hermione would sacrifice herself to save him or anyone for that matter. 

“There is no damn way to know where they are though, he apperated them away right after the explosion.”

“Mippy can find them.” The little elf stared wide-eyed at Lucius. 

Lucius eyed the creature and nodded his head, “Find them but don't do anything else, we have to find a way to break that bond if we don't he will simply come and get her again.”

“Yes Master,” Mippy acknowledged and blinked away from the room.

“Does anyone know where that book is?” Severus asked.

“It is in her beaded bag, I don't know where it is, it wasn't at the graveyard, she may have had it with her. “

“We need to search that room, perhaps in the aftermath, she left it behind,” Lucius commented

Draco and Luna entered the room a moment later, out of breath, to inform them of what had occurred in the dungeons. All three men swore when they realized Bellatrix was loose and out for Hermione’s blood.

Slowly the party made their way to the room Voldemort had used and kept Hermione in. The devastation to the house was making Lucius hyperventilate, several times they had to stop so he could calm down. The smell of burning flesh was making all of then nauseated, all around them the sounds from the other Order members could be heard wailing and cursing against the backdrop of eerie silence.

Harry rushed to the steps he had been trying to get to earlier when he saw his friend lying dead in his mother's' arms, his knees buckled and the horrifying scene. 

_ Ron no… _

“Has anyone seen mother?” Draco asked shakily, looking once again at Ron and now beginning to panic. 

“You and Miss. Lovegood go find her, Draco; Severus and I will look in the room.” Draco nodded and dragged Luna behind him away from the stairs and the gruesome scene down the hallway.

Lucius stood for a moment watching Harry grieve for his friend, he had not moved from where he had fallen.  Silent tears were cascading down the young man's face, Lucius extended his hand and placed it on top of Harry's shoulder, the boy had been through so much, much more than most people even experienced in a lifetime.

“Harry, “ Severus said stepping closer to the kneeling young man, “ if you want to avenge him we have to be able to break that bond, otherwise you will lose them both. Come, we have much work to do.”

Lucius pulled Harry up and guided him into the room away from his adopted family, there would be a day when Voldemort would regret his actions this night. 

The enchantments that had been placed on the beaded bag served as a fantastic protection against the onslaught of destructive magic that had decimated the room. After digging in the dust for a few minutes, Harry finally found it. He shrunk the bag and placed it in his pocket. 

He looked around at the once fully furnished room, now everything was but a layer of fine dust,  even the walls had been blown apart.  It was a surprise to everyone standing there that they had survived,an absolute bloody miracle!

__________ __________ __________ ________

“MOTHER!” Draco screamed as he and Luna raced down the hallway the family suites. The devastation wasn't nearly as bad in this part of the house, in fact, it looked as if it were completely untouched. 

Draco crept closer to the door of his mother's room and he could feel the humming of extremely powerful wards racing across his skin.

“Mother!?” Draco knocked loudly but the door remained sealed against him.

“I don't think your mother is in there,” Luna whispered. “This magic feels like Bellatrix.”

Dracos heart nearly stopped when he heard the tortured screams if his mother and the cackling insanity of his aunt coming from behind the door.

“Don't you dare hurt her you crazy bitch!” Draco shouted as he tried to beat the door down with his fists.

“Draco we need more people!” Luna produced her patronus and sent it to find people to help. The sounds of running could be heard as the playful little hare raced through the hallways. Bill Weasley was the first to arrive, along with Fleur, Fred, and George. 

“Move!” Bill shouted as he began to disassemble the wards surrounding the room. 

Suddenly the wards dropped and Bellatrix emerged with an unconscious Narcissa slumped against her as a shield. Blood trickled down the side of Narcissa’s mouth, her beautiful pale skin was beginning to turn a sickly green tinge, her usual perfect appearance was ragged. Her head lulled to the side in an unnatural position.

“Now, Now Drakey, if you want your dear mother to live you will move out of the way and let your dear Aunt Bella pass.” Bellatrix sang.

Raged pure rage, coursed through Draco, she was already dead. 

“Drop my mother now, Bellatrix, or I will make your death more painful than you can imagine.” Draco whispered.

The mad cackle that left Bellatrix made all of them shake, the woman was deranged, mad, cruel!

“Oops!” The madwoman laughed and flung the lifeless body of her sister to Draco and promptly apperated away.

Lucius, Severus, and Harry came a moment later racing down the hallway. Lucius reached his wife and son, he gathered his bride in his arms and wept.  

_ That bitch will be the first to die. _

 


	11. Broken

Happy Tomione Day everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I apologize for going so long without an update to this story, I promise to try and update sooner next time. Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed this story. When I started this journey it was for Tomione Fest with the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook on Facebook. I did not expect anyone to read this story beyond the fest and I certainly did not expect so many people to like it. I am humbled by the response to this story, I hope I do the prompt justice.

 

As Always, I do not own Harry Potter or any Characters in the Harry Potter universe, I am simply playing in JK Rowling's Playground. Sometimes I get to use the slide :)

  


Chapter 11: Broken

 

Hermione felt the burn of the restraints around her wrists, she felt helpless and the confidence she had gained from _knowing_ he couldn’t harm her was severely diminished. All of her old insecurities reared their ugly heads and slammed into her. _Worthless Mudblood. Friendless. Ugly. Stupid!_  She was in a perilous situation; she was restrained on a bed with a megalomaniac psychopath as her captor in an unfamiliar cabin in God knows where. She had no way to communicate with anyone, she didn't even have her wand at this point. She watched as one of her best friends was potentially murdered in front of her eyes, she had helped blow apart a house that had been standing as far back as Merlin had been alive and helped in burning alive a dozen or more people. She deserved to die, at the very least she felt she deserved to rot in Azkaban. She was no better than the monster she had tried to help destroy.

 

_Had I not done that damned ritual, I wouldn't be in this mess. I would most likely still be living in a tent ogling Ron every day and not worried that he was dead._

 

A tortured sob escaped her, she wanted some sort of confirmation even if it would fuel her rage knowing that he was dead; it was the ‘not knowing’ that was slowly killing her. At this point should could care less if she was bound to a bed or that Voldemort could do anything he wanted to her.

 

_Let him torture me, it won't change any damned thing…_

 

She had not spoken since he restrained her, and he had not touched her physically or with magic. She knew he was sitting in the armchair next to the fire, she could hear his thoughts, she knew he felt no remorse for what he had done other than he regretted they had been interrupted in the bathroom.

 

_I can not believe I gave myself to this monster…_

 

“I am a monster am I?” The bitter tone of his voice startled her out of her own torturous mind.

 

Hermione couldn't even respond. He was angry, yes, but the sheer amount of anger pulsing through her from his seeing her regret over Ron made him murderous. She clamped her mouth closed, she couldn't respond without him becoming violent, it was better to just let him speak since she was in no position to defend herself.

 

“If my anger over you pining over a _boy_ , someone who is _probably_ dead and who is most definitely _not_ me, makes me a monster than so be it.” He spat angrily. “You have believed the worst of me from the beginning, you have _never_ heard my side of things and you most certainly have kept those beliefs since that damned ritual, even when I have shown you more patience and kindness than I have ever shown another _living_ being. You have no idea why I did the things I did, you only have Dumbledore's convoluted fucked up version of why I have done the things I have done. Never once, _never_ has anyone asked me what it was like liking in that Hell hole in the middle of a war and beaten near to death by a sadistic old crone who would rather beat the hell out of you for something you can't control. Rather than take a magical child away from Muggles who neither understand why a child is doing accidental magic and clearly did not want too, we leave them there to accept or defend themselves from whatever punishment they seem to think is appropriate. I was sent to a priest, Granger, a Muggle Priest! I was tied down to a bed and they performed an exorcism on me; I was nine! That entire story Dumbledore heard from the bitch who ran that place about those kids at the cave, they tried to stab me because I flew across the rocks to the mouth of the cave. What I was I supposed to do? Let them kill me because I couldn't do it again? Tell Mrs. Cole, because hell, she had already tried to have me committed and exorcised!? If asking Dumbledore questions about accidental angry magic, and being the Heir of Slytherin makes me a monster then I suppose I am. You will never see me as anything more than what you already do. Do I regret what just happened? ,No and Yes, I regret when anyone of magical heritage is slain but I do not regret defending you against them taking you. I can't let them have you, Hermione.”

 

Hermione did not know whether to be disgusted by his lack of regret concerning Ron or her friends coming to rescue her or be horrified by what he had endured. On some level he was right, magical children who were raised outside the magical world were often bullied and beaten for things they couldn't control. She thought herself extremely lucky to have the parents she did, who loved and cared for her even if they did not understand her. She also had no reason not to believe every word he said, he was projecting so much pain it was stifling. She could feel the fear and hatred of the little boy, she could understand why he hated muggles and often associated even Muggleborns with the pain he had to endure for so long. He reminded Hermione of Harry at that moment, from what little Harry had divulged to her and Ron about his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins treatment of him she had been angry, now she realized this wasn't an isolated event, this was a serious problem that needed to be fixed. While knew there were good people, Muggles who would protect and love their children no matter what they were, there was just as many who would bully and persecute them.

 

“I am sorry the world failed you, Tom. I truly am sorry that even Dumbledore didn't protect you. He didn't protect Harry, either. Harry was raised by two of the most horrible human beings I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. When I first met him on the train to Hogwarts, he was wearing clothes that were so big on him it looked like he had been draped in grey elephant skin, his glasses were broken and he was so skinny he looked emaciated. He had no idea he was even magical until Hagrid beat down the door of an abandoned shack in the middle of the ocean just to get his letter to him. He had no idea who you were until the day Hagrid told him and even then it was glossed over. He spent every year on nutritive potions because his relatives starved him during the summer, I do remember between our first and second years the Weasleys had to go rescue him, they locked him in his room and placed bars on the windows. Do you know what he told me when I asked him about it? At least he had sunlight. For the first ten years he lived in a cupboard under the stairs, often times he was beaten, starved and locked in that cupboard for weeks at a time.

 

The one thing I do not agree with you on is the fact you place every Muggle and Muggleborn into the same category. I am a Muggleborn, Tom, there is no magical blood for generations in my family, not since the time of Mary Queen of Scots, and I was raised with parents who love me despite the fact they do not understand me.They would have gone against anyone, you included, to make sure I was safe. I had to stop telling them about what was happening at Hogwarts every year because my dad wanted to use his drill on people.

 

My point is, you can't lump everyone together in one category and expect it to be correct. Yes, magical children, especially those raised in the Muggle world should be checked up on and moved to safer conditions if necessary, but so should magical children! Some people, regardless of heritage, are just cruel and no child should ever have to fear for their lives regardless if they are Muggle, Magical or anything in between.”

 

“What do you mean Harry was beaten? I was always told he was catered too like a Prince.”

 

Hermione snorted her disapproval, “By, Severus Snape, no doubt.”

 

“And the Malfoy’s.”

 

“Yes, because the most spoilt child in the Wizarding world would see the attention Harry gets from that stupid scar on his head as being spoiled. Snape hates Harry on principal because of his father James. Draco hates Harry because he gets more attention than the Slytherin Prince himself. If you had any idea how much Harry hates attention you would understand what I mean. Oh, he smiles and endures it but when it is just him apart from everyone else he would slump his shoulders and damn near hyperventilate because he hates being the center of attention. He told me once he used to shrink into the shadows at his Aunt and Uncle's house just to make it through the day without acquiring a new bruise. ‘ _Drawing attention to yourself gets you hurt.’_ I suppose for many kids that is true.”

 

Without another word spoken, Tom jolted out of his chair, grabbed his wand and walked out the front door. He had a lot to think about.

  


Hermione did not know if what she was feeling was because of Toms own tumultuous emotions or because she was genuinely upset. Well, of course, she was upset, but the pain over a past she had not experienced, pain and confusion over choices made because of lies she had not been told, these she was fairly certain, were not her emotions. They were, however, greatly diminished compared to what they had been before which also made her wonder if he was even close by.

 

__________________________________

  


Mippy stood inside the cabin watching the exchange between Hermione and Tom, she was invisible just as Master Lucius had commanded her to be. She stood there for so long she almost didn't hear the slow crunching of the leaves outside the door. Mippy apparated quietly to the small window overlooking the quiet forest and caught a glimpse of wild black curls darting through the trees. Mippy had no instructions as to what was to be done if the crazy lady should happen to appear. Mippy wrung her hands together and decided to ask the Master before she got the Muddy out of there.

 

Lucius, Severus, and Harry sat at the long oak table at Grimmauld Place, each had a glass of whiskey in hand but only Harry sat stone-faced staring at the fireplace as if he were watching for others to appear. Mippy appeared at the end of the table and tugged on Lucius’s robes to get his attention. Lucius looked down not at all expecting the house elf to have appeared so soon.

 

“Mippy is sorry, Master but I was watching the Muddy and the Dark Lord and the Crazy Lady appeared. What is I to do if he is leaving?”

 

“Bellatrix found them already!?” Harry screeched, jumping from his chair and pacing in front of the fireplace. Mippy nodded her head, and all three men let out various expletives.

 

“If he leaves Hermione alone, get her out of there! We will just have to figure out a place to put her where she can't be found at the moment.”

 

“My private room at Hogwarts,” Severus piped up almost immediately. “Beyond the fact that it is nearly impossible to get in or out of Hogwarts, no one can get into my rooms except me. Not even Albus could.”

 

“Brilliant!” Harry piped up.

 

“Yes, Mippy as soon as you can get Hermione to Master Severus’s private rooms at Hogwarts. I will notify all who need to know. Tell no one, understood?”

 

“ Yes, Master Lucius Mippy be doing what you says.”

  


_______________________________

  


The soft ‘pop’ that caught Hermione’s attention moments after Tom walked out the door nearly made her scream until she realized it was a house elf, not just any house elf, a Malfoy house elf. Mippy stood at the end of the bed with one long finger across her mouth indicating Hermione needed to be quiet. Hermione nodded her head and Mippy snapped her fingers undoing the binds that held Hermione to the bed.

 

“We has to get you out of here, Missy Hermione. The crazy one is outside waiting for the Dark Lord to walk away enough to gets to you. Hold on to my hand and I gets you out of here.”

 

The sound of the front door creaking open caused Hermione and Mippy both to whip their heads around to watch who was coming. A faint cackle could be heard as Bellatrix tried to walk quietly across the floor.

 

“Icky little Mudblood, all alone. Now I will kill her just for breathing the same air as My Lord. She isn't even worthy enough to lick his boots!”

 

“Hold on to Mippy’s hand, Miss,” the elf whispered.

 

Hermione grabbed the gnarled thin fingers and held on as tightly as she could, Mippy nodded her approval and told threw her finger up to her mouth again. Bellatrix rounded the corner, standing in the doorway. Wand held loosely in her hand, she looked slightly confused at seeing Mippy holding Hermione’s hand. Mippy snapped her fingers and Bellatrix was bound in thick tight ropes. Bellatrix let out a loud curse as she watched Mippy snap her fingers once more and the house elf and Hermione were gone.

  


______________________________

  


Hermione and Mippy landed in the front sitting room of Severus’s personal quarters at Hogwarts. Hermione had never been more grateful in her life than she was at the brave little elf that had rescued her from certain death. She grabbed the surprised elf and hugged her, crying in appreciation until she felt hands pull her from the surprised elf and engulf her.

 

“Thank God you are alive,” Harry cried.

 

“H-Harry?”

 

“Where am I?”

 

“You are in my private rooms at Hogwarts, Miss Granger,” Severus spoke from behind Harry. Hermione looked up to find not only Harry and Severus but Draco, Lucius and Professor McGonagall all looking at her.

 

“I am so sorry,” Hermione began to cry again in earnest. The fact that Ron was not there with Harry seemed to confirm her worst fear. She couldn't ask him, she didn't think she wanted to absolutely know for certain but there was no Weasleys there to greet her and that could only mean one thing, Ron was forever lost.


End file.
